


sooner or later

by groundopenwide



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Friendship, M/M, Slow Burn, california au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 60,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4386812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundopenwide/pseuds/groundopenwide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The felt tip of the pen tickles as it forges a path up Niall’s arm. He follows the movement through hooded eyes, slumping down until he’s half asleep on Zayn’s shoulder. Even still, his gaze traces the yin and yang that Zayn’s shading in below the crook of his elbow with a strange sort of fascination.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I like that one.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Yeah?” Zayn peeks up briefly from beneath his lashes, then returns his eyes to his work, thumbing lightly over the fresh ink. “It’s a bit like you and me, I think.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“It is,” Niall agrees softly.</i>
</p><p>A high school AU in which Niall is lonely, Zayn is observant, and they each might turn out to be exactly what the other needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're just stumbling across this fic- welcome! I began writing _Sooner or Later_ in July 2015, after inspiration struck while I was road tripping down to Southern California for my OTRA show. After months of hiatus, I finally finished writing in January 2016. Since then, I've gone back to edit pre-existing author's notes, as well as certain grammatical/technical things within the story for easier reading. So, if you're a returning reader and things looks different- that's why!
> 
> A quick disclaimer: I'm familiar with Southern California but not a native, so a lot of this is probably inaccurate. As far as I'm aware, Dana Point is a pretty hoighty-toighty place, but let's pretend its run-down area is actually as run-down as I've made it out to be. All of the books/colleges mentioned do actually exist. Whether or not the students at Dana Hills High actually eat inside of a cafeteria is beyond me. If they don't, then we can play pretend.
> 
> The title is from _Apartment_ by Young the Giant.
> 
> Tumblr masterpost: [here.](http://groundopenwide.tumblr.com/post/137451500733/sooner-or-later-niallzayn-high-school-au-60k)  
> Fic playlist on spotify: [here.](https://open.spotify.com/user/1238092792/playlist/4RqcvNH3CKx9dL52h2483Z)
> 
>   
>    
> 

_Thwap!_

The spitball lands right at the base of Niall’s neck, just above the collar of his t-shirt. It’s wet and itchy, and Niall grimaces as he reaches back to pick the little wad of paper from his skin. The scrap is  hardly the size of his pinky thumbnail. He inspects it for a moment before flicking it to the ground and picking up his pencil, knuckles going white around the wood.

_Thwap!_

Behind the ear this time. Niall jerks his head upon impact and slumps down in his seat, doing his best to return his attention to his government notes.  _Ignore it,_ he tells himself.  If he doesn’t react, maybe they’ll get bored. If he doesn’t react, maybe they'll be dissuaded and instead go about torturing someone else.

_Thwap!_ and then, _thwap!_

There’s a burst of laughter from somewhere behind him as they hit him twice at the edge of his hairline in quick succession. 

Face burning, Niall tries  to focus on copying down the names of the Supreme Court Justices.  _Ruth Bader Ginsburg,_ he writes out, painstakingly slow. The laughter dies down as he’s tracing over the capital _G,_ and he blows out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

When the bell rings, he keeps his head down and hastily packs up his things. Nobody bothers him. They never do, not past the childish jabs during class when the teacher’s voice has been droning on for too long and they need something else to occupy their attention until the period ends.  Apparently Niall is the perfect distraction- he’s just a kid with bleached hair and braces and shoes that are a size too small, after all.

There are still spitballs lodged into the skin at his nape. He picks them out and wipes them off on the edge of his desk, then hooks his backpack over his shoulders and moves towards the door. The passing period is only five minutes long, and he’ll probably be late to calc if he waits any longer. With a sigh, Niall tucks both hands into the straps of his bag and pushes forward into the fray. No one pays any attention to him, and that’s just the way he prefers it.

*

Niall's lab partner, Liam, is already seated at their shared table when he arrives to sixth period physics later in the day. Liam offers him a smile, but Niall barely manages to smile back as he sinks into his chair and drops his belongings at his feet.

“Long day?” Liam asks.

All Niall can do is nod.

The spitballs during gov had only been the beginning. Fourth period, they’d been herded into groups to take a practice test in calc. Niall _hates_ group work. He’s always the one actually doing the work while everyone else whispers amongst themselves, waiting to snag the answers from him later. 

He’d then proceeded to smear strawberry jam on his white shirt during lunch, too absorbed in his book to notice the fact that his PB&J was leaking. Now a pink splotch resides in the middle of his chest, still visible despite his valiant efforts at wiping it away.

Fifth period had been uneventful. Small victories, right?

Physics is like an oasis in the middle of a desert, because it provides the one positive thing about Niall’s time at school: Liam. They’re not _friends,_ per se, but that doesn’t mean Liam’s ever been anything but friendly towards him. He’s the best lab partner Niall’s ever had, that’s for sure- he actually helps Niall when they have shared assignments to complete, and he never fails to say hi and offer up small talk during the few minutes before class starts or when Mr. McMahon takes breaks from lecturing. And he never gets upset when Niall chooses not to respond, either, just keeps on talking like a one-sided conversation is totally normal. 

(It’s not that Niall’s socially inept- he simply chooses to keep to himself. Once everyone had figured that out a few weeks into freshman year, they’d let him be. It’s what Niall had wanted. It’s how he likes things.) 

Liam, though, was persistent- that, or just too friendly for his own good. He’d plopped down at Niall’s table on the first day of school, smiled his warm, genuine smile, and asked Niall how his summer had been as though they’d suddenly been scooped up and dropped into the middle of a teenage rom-com.  He was new in town, he’d explained, since his family had just moved from the Temecula area. He didn’t really know anyone yet, so was it okay that he’d joined Niall at his table?

Niall, of course, wasn’t expecting anyone else to join him, and he couldn’t exactly say _no,_ so he’d nodded stiltedly and did his best to smile. 

And that was how he’d gotten to know Liam Payne.

Liam isn’t popular by any stretch, but he’s on the track team and sings in the school choir and seems to have made quite a few friends in his short time at Dana Hills. He’s also pretty awful at physics, but since he’s nice, Niall doesn’t really mind helping him. It’s the least he can do when Liam puts up with his stubborn silence every day.

Today, the bell rings and Mr. McMahon immediately launches into a lesson on light, sparing Niall from any probing questions that Liam might have. He can sense Liam glancing over at him every so often, eyebrows furrowed like they always seem to get when he thinks Niall isn’t looking, but he doesn’t say anything else. Niall trains his eyes on his notebook and wonders if Liam’s noticed the jam stain on his shirt yet.

Five minutes until the final bell, a hand slides into Niall’s line of sight. It’s gone a second later, but it’s left behind half a Snickers bar. The chocolate’s going to leave melted remnants on his notes, but the gesture still does something funny to his stomach. Niall lifts his head and finds Liam watching him, mouth curled up hesitantly. He nods towards the candy with a hopeful look.

Instead of saying anything, Niall picks up the chocolate bar and takes a bite. Liam’s smile widens before he turns back to his notes.

“Thanks,” Niall says quietly, after the bell has rung and everyone begins to pack up their books. He doesn’t look at Liam, but he knows the other boy has heard him. Liam’s attentive like that.

“No problem.” Niall thinks that’s it, until Liam adds, “keep your head up, okay?”

Niall swallows, eyes glued to where his hands have stilled with his physics book halfway into his backpack. “I always do.”

He finally looks up, just in time to see Liam’s departing figure as it passes through the door and disappears from sight. The half-eaten Snickers is still sitting on Niall’s desk; he picks it up and polishes off the rest in two bites.

*

The truck is gone when Niall gets home half an hour later, which means his dad has already left for his second job. He’s forgotten to close the back screen, though, and Niall sighs as he locks up his bike around the side of the house and makes his way inside. He’ll have to lecture his dad about safety tomorrow morning...again.

Their house is older, a white and nondescript bungalow from Dana Point’s earlier days. The outside paint is peeling and the Spanish-style roof shingles are worn, their red color faded into a dull orange. Inside, everything is outdated, from the formica countertops to the foggy front windows. The floors haven’t been properly mopped or swept in months, and the couch has too many lumps in it, but Niall can’t complain. He has a bed and enough food to keep him upright, and that’s what matters.

There’s a pile of envelopes on the floor by the front door, fresh through the mail slot. Niall goes to pick them up after he’s dumped his backpack on the kitchen table. Electricity bill, cable bill, solicitor mail...

He flips to the next envelope and stops dead.

The University of Chicago’s emblem is pressed neatly into the paper’s left corner. Niall swallows hard. 

When did his hands start shaking?

He separates the envelope from the rest, leaving the stack on the end table next to the couch for his dad to sort through when he gets home. There’s a twist in his stomach that has nothing to do with hunger, and when he glances back down at the envelope clutched in his hands, he nearly breaks out into a sweat.

_Open it,_ he tells himself. _Just open it. What’s the worst that could happen? A rejection?_

Ms. Paul had been the one who convinced him to apply. It was after English class on a cool afternoon in December, and she’d slipped him an information packet on his way out the door.

“Take a look,” she’d encouraged. “You’re brilliant, Niall. I think you could do great things there.”

Speechless, Niall had accepted the packet and biked home on trembling legs. He didn’t live under a rock- he knew about UChicago’s prestigious reputation. To think that someone believed he even had a shot...

Niall had spent all night on the school’s website, browsing through their academic programs and clubs and financial aid packages until his eyes were burning and his fingers were sore. Ms. Paul wasn’t wrong; this school was _it._ This was where Niall could see himself for four years. This was a place where maybe, possibly, he’d be able to start over.

Two weeks later, he’d gathered up his remaining $80 from a summer spent painting houses with a friend of his dad’s and sent in his application.

Niall isn’t stupid. He may fly under the radar, but he works hard: he does all of his homework and studies for tests until he knows the information forwards and backwards. He takes AP classes. He scored over 2100 on the SAT on the first try. He has the academics, but he doesn’t know if he has everything else that he needs to actually _achieve this-_ the extracurriculars, the personality, the _finances._ With his dad already working two jobs...

Niall shakes his head. He doesn’t even know if he’s been accepted yet. It’s unlikely, anyway, so what’s the point in getting worked up over something that will probably never be?

Steeling himself, Niall slips his index finger beneath the envelope seal and tears it open. The paper inside is thick and creme-colored, some kind of fancy card stock that probably costs 99¢ a sheet. It’s folded three ways. Niall swears his hands are burning as he opens it.

_Dear Mr. Niall Horan,_

_Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you of your acceptance..._

Niall’s heart drops into his stomach.

_You have been selected...we are hoping you choose to join us...please inform us of your decision by May 1st..._

His eyes scan over the words, but he hardly comprehends them. 

He’s been accepted to the _University of Chicago._

A stinging sensation builds up in the backs of his eyes, and Niall lets out a humorless laugh. He folds the letter back up and flattens it against his chest, where his heart has taken off at lightning speed. Blinking the tears back, he stumbles towards his bedroom and tugs open the bottom drawer of his desk. Inside lies a stack of papers, three letters all similar in size and weight. 

One is from CSU Long Beach. One is from CSU San Marcos. The last is from UC Riverside.

Niall gently places the UChicago letter on the top of the stack and shuts the drawer.

*

The next morning, Niall finds his father sipping coffee at the kitchen table.

“Morning,” Bobby greets. His face is tired and pale, and the crows feet around his eyes are more pronounced than usual.

Niall reaches for the cereal in the cupboard. As he’s pouring Cheerios into a bowl, he says, “you forgot to close the screen door again.”

He doesn’t mention the acceptance letter.

*

There are no spitballs shot at him during government, and calc is spent correcting their practice tests as a class. By the time the lunch bell rings, Niall’s feeling significantly better than yesterday. He’s wearing a dark gray shirt that will hide any unwelcome stains and has his copy of _Never Let Me Go_ stuffed beneath his arm. It’s the only company he’ll need for the next forty-five minutes.

Dropping down at his usual empty table in the front corner of the cafeteria, he unwraps his sandwich and settles in with his book.

Niall isn’t sure how long it’s been since he sat down- ten minutes, maybe? Kathy and the others have just moved from Hailsham to the Cottages, and Niall is so engrossed that when he goes to take a bite of his sandwich, he misses his mouth completely.

A bit of peanut butter gets stuck to the corner of his lips, and Niall huffs. He goes to wipe it off with the pad of his thumb, but the sound of someone clearing their throat makes him pause.

“Hey.”

Niall blinks. A boy is standing across the table from him, tall and lean in ripped black skinny jeans and a white henley. There’s a red beanie tucked over his head, dark hair curling out from beneath the edges, and his face is- well. It looks as though it’s been cut from marble, all sharp jaw and hollow cheeks and long eyelashes.

With a glance to either side of himself, Niall abruptly realizes that yes, this boy is speaking to _him._

“Um,” he says eloquently. There’s still peanut butter on his lip and stuck in his braces. Niall can feel the stickiness when he runs his tongue over the metal.

The boy smiles carefully, unfazed by Niall’s stunned silence. “I’m Zayn. We have fifth period English together, I think?”

Niall blinks again. The boy- _Zayn-_ hasn’t moved. 

“Why are you talking to me?” he blurts _._

Zayn, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. “I saw your book, like-” he gestures at the novel that’s still open in Niall’s hands. “It’s one of my favorites.”

Niall squints and tries to place his face. An image flits through his brain, then, of a boy hovering at the front of Ms. Paul’s room with a worn spiral notebook gripped between his trembling hands. 

“You’re poetry guy,” Niall realizes.

When he peers back up at Zayn, the other boy looks...embarrassed?

“Uh, yeah. Ms. Paul sort of forced me into reading those?” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, and Niall’s eyes fall to the bright _ZAP!_ that’s revealed when he drops his arm a moment later and pushes up his shirtsleeves. “She’s small but scary. I couldn’t say no.”

Niall doesn’t respond, instead lowering his eyes and brushing away the peanut butter at the corner of his mouth.

The lack of response doesn’t seem to deter Zayn. “You’re Niall, right?”

_How do you know that?_ is what Niall’s dying to ask, but instead he nods before glancing down at his book. He runs his thumb over the creased corner of his current page as the silence grows between them, and eventually it stretches on for so long that Niall wonders if Zayn’s suddenly walked away without him noticing.

The silence is shattered, though, when Zayn asks, “what do you think of the book so far?”

The question is followed by Zayn’s weight falling onto the bench across from Niall. He folds both of his arms and rests them on the table before leaning forward like he genuinely wants to hear Niall give his opinion. 

Niall stares for too long before answering. “It’s...good,” he mutters. He doesn’t offer anything else.

Zayn raises a single eyebrow at him as if to say, _that’s it?_

The thing is, Niall knows he’s being sort of rude. It’s _understandable,_ though _._ People don’t talk to Niall, and he doesn’t talk to them- Liam being the obvious exception. Whoever this Zayn is, there’s no way he’d approach Niall out of the blue unless he had some sort of ulterior motive. It’s highly doubtful that he’s come all the way over here just to discuss a book- that’s not the way Niall’s world works.

After eye contact that lasts far too long, Niall’s eyes flit away. He takes a moment to collect himself, scanning his eyes over the cafeteria as a distraction. A table towards the back catches his eye- all ten or so heads there are either turned in Niall’s direction or casually whispering to one another, and the attention settles in Niall’s stomach like a series of snakes twisting and slithering over one another. 

These must be Zayn’s friends, then.

One girl in particular seems to have zeroed in on him, her blue eyes narrowed and her smirk visible even from all the way across the room. Niall knows who she is, at least- Perrie Edwards. Tall, blonde, popular. On the dance team. She might sing with Liam in choir, too, but Niall isn’t one hundred percent sure. Either way, the look on her face makes the back of his neck prickle.

“Your friends are staring,” Niall says quietly. “You should probably go back over there.”

A small frown appears on Zayn’s face, but it’s not directed at Niall. “I think they’ll survive without me.”

Niall wets his tongue over his lips and shakes his head. His book is still open in his hands, and he turns his attention back to it, staring intently down at the page without really seeing anything. Zayn’s gaze is a heavy, unwavering weight that makes it impossible to concentrate. 

“How come you’re sitting alone?”

Niall shrugs. He doesn’t offer an explanation, and Zayn doesn’t press for one.

They fall back into an awkward silence as Niall pretends to read and Zayn watches him, unabashed. The whole situation confuses Niall to no end, and he’s trying to figure out how many minutes there are until the bell gives him an escape when Zayn finally rises to his feet. 

“Well,” he says, drawing the word out pointedly. “I’ll see you in English, Niall.”

Niall tears his eyes away from his book in time to see Zayn offer a little mock-salute as he backs away from the table. When he finds Niall looking, he grins, then turns around and weaves back through the room to his friends. Niall absolutely does not stare after him as he goes.

*

Niall makes it a point to get to English early and takes his seat in the front of the second row from the window, keeping his head down.

Zayn walks in mere seconds later, and he makes it a point to stroll right past Niall’s desk, tapping his knuckles briefly against the wooden surface. Niall doesn’t look up, but he does watch from the corner of his eye as Zayn sits down in the back next to a boy with curly hair that Niall vaguely recognizes. Henry, maybe?

Whatever. It’s not important.

*

Once he gets to physics, the first thing Niall does is place an unopened Snickers on top of his and Liam’s shared table.

"For yesterday,” he says simply. He doesn’t mention that he had to spend one of the meager four crumpled dollar bills in his wallet to buy it from the vending machine after second period.

Liam looks up, startled, but his features quickly morph into a smile when he spots the candy bar.

“You didn’t have to,” he murmurs.

Niall just shrugs and takes his seat, rummaging around in his backpack for a pencil. He hears the crinkle of a wrapper a moment later, and once he’s finished pulling his books out, he finds Liam chewing thoughtfully, eyes wide with gratitude. The other boy doesn’t verbalize his sincere _thank you,_ but Niall still hears it loud and clear. Leaning forward, he attempts to hide the smile that’s pushing at his own lips by flipping open his notebook and beginning to pencil in the date at the top right corner of the page. 

*

He’s sitting at the kitchen table and punching away at his calculator when his dad gets home that night, ashen-faced and worn looking. Niall’s brows furrow, and he sets his pencil down as he glances at the clock on the microwave- it’s not even eleven, and his dad usually works until long after Niall’s already gone to bed.

“You’re home early,” he comments. He watches as his dad fills a glass with water from the tap and takes a long gulp, drinking until it’s practically empty.

“They told me I was looking a bit rough, said to get some rest.” Bobby shrugs, but Niall knows his dad, and he knows that those three hours the construction company has given him off amount to twenty-five crucial dollars he won’t be making. He frowns.

“Dad, you know I’ll start working if you-”

“No.” The glass clinks against the countertop as his dad sets it down, scrubbing a hand over the beard that’s getting too long on his face. “You shouldn’t have to, not while you’re in school. Don’t worry about it, alright?”

Niall looks down at his homework, staring at the expression he’d been trying to integrate when his dad had walked in the door. In the grand scheme of things, partial fractions don’t seem as important as keeping food on the table, but the issue isn’t negotiable. He’s tried a million times before, and his dad has repeatedly refused. _Focus on your studies,_ he’s told Niall, over and over and over. _School will get you places. A dead-end job won’t._

“At least let me cook you some dinner,” Niall says softly, already pushing up from the table. Bobby doesn’t argue like he normally would- _no, you finish your homework and then get some sleep_ \- and that’s a sign in and of itself that he’s positively exhausted. There’s a pot already waiting on the stove, so Niall sets some water to boil, then goes to dig through the pantry for a box of pasta.

“What are you working on?” When Niall finally emerges victorious, holding a box of spaghetti, his dad is seated at the table and flipping through the calc textbook that lies there. Niall watches him for a long moment, and as he does so, he’s abruptly reminded of the letters hidden away in his room.

He swallows and turns away, dumping the pasta into the now boiling water on the stove.

“Calc,” he eventually answers, once the noodles are cooking and he’s rifling through a drawer for a spoon to stir them with. He pauses when he hears his dad’s response.

“Never got past Algebra II.” He says it absentmindedly, like it doesn’t bother him that his education was cut so short. Niall keeps his attention on the pasta.“Is it hard?”

“A bit.” Niall stirs the spaghetti around a few times. _Mr. McClanahan offered to let me take the AP test in May, but I can’t pay the fee,_ he doesn’t say.

His dad doesn’t ask anymore questions, leaving Niall to finish cooking in silence. He drains the water from the pot and in a matter of minutes, he’s setting a plate of spaghetti with marinara straight out of the jar down on the table. His dad smiles tiredly, and Niall just smiles back, returning to his own seat to focus on his homework.

It’s been awhile since they’ve sat together like this. His dad is usually either away at work or passed out on the couch on his rare days off, and it’s sort of nice, being able to coexist without everything else weighing on them for a short moment.

The only sounds are of Bobby’s fork hitting his plate and Niall’s pencil scratching over his paper. It lulls him into a state of calm as he works away at his integrals, and he almost forgets about the rest of his life for awhile: school, money, Liam, _Zayn._

“Niall.” His dad’s voice breaks him out of his trance, and Niall lifts his head. There’s a sharp ache somewhere in his chest as he takes in the wrinkled forehead, the hollow cheeks, the thinning hair- each day seems to age his dad another ten years, and it hurts, being forced to watch as he works himself to the bone yet somehow manages to get up again the next morning, and then again the morning after that.

“We’ll be okay.” The words do little to reassure him, but Niall smiles anyway. It’s tight and close-lipped, probably more of a grimace, but he tries. If it’s for his dad, he can try. He has to.

“I know.” Niall sticks his homework inside of his textbook and quietly shuts it, pushing his chair away from the table. “I’m gonna head to bed, I think. See you in the morning?”

“Alright.” Bobby smiles, and it’s like the motion takes every ounce of energy he has left in him. Niall tucks his book beneath his arm and looks away. “Thanks for the spaghetti.”

As he retreats to his room, Niall spares one last look back at the kitchen. His dad is bent over the table, head hanging heavily between his hands. The image sears itself into Niall’s mind, where it stays for the rest of the night.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Zayn?” Niall carefully places the mirror a few inches away from the flashlight. “Are you guys friends?”_
> 
> _“No.” The answer comes too quick, and Niall adds, “we have English together, that’s all.”_
> 
> _It’s more words than he’s spoken to Liam in a long time, and if the look on Liam’s face is anything to go by, he’s well aware of that. Thankfully the interrogation stops there, but Niall doesn’t miss the way both of Liam’s eyebrows go climbing up into his hairline._

The last thing Niall expects is to find his usual lunch table occupied the following day. He stops dead about ten feet away, paper bag in one hand and _Never Let Me Go_ in the other, and wonders if it’s too late to spin around and walk back out of the cafeteria.

Except that’s when Zayn looks up and spots him, his face breaking out into a grin.

Niall’s grip on his lunch bag tightens.

Zayn’s missing the beanie today, his hair held loosely upright with gel while a plain black t-shirt covers his torso. With a short nod of his head, he gestures towards the seat across from him, and there’s no way Niall can leave now. Besides- he’s not going to let something as mundane as Zayn’s presence knock him out of his routine. With a roll of his shoulders and the straightening of his spine, Niall slowly closes the distance that separates him from the table and settles into his usual seat. He pulls out his PB&J without saying a word.

It’s impossible to fully ignore the feeling of Zayn’s eyes on him, but he focuses on biting into his sandwich and opening up his book instead of returning his gaze. The pages are dog-eared in the same spot as yesterday- he’d been too tired to read last night after the talk with his dad, and had fallen into a restless sleep filled with dreams of eviction notices taped to the front door and an empty refrigerator, complete with his father’s corpse rotting away at the kitchen table.

Bile rises in the back of Niall’s throat, and he quickly shakes the thought away before taking another bite of his sandwich.

“Hey,” Zayn’s voice filters over.

Niall ignores him and focuses on chewing the wad of bread and peanut butter that currently resides in his mouth.

“Have they left Hailsham yet?” A pause. Zayn’s talking about the book again, Niall realizes. He has the urge to nod, but stops himself at the last minute. “What do you think of Ruth? I couldn’t stand her for ninety percent of the book, then felt awful at the end for ever getting annoyed with her. You’ll see why.”

When Niall swallows, it’s like trying to stomach an oversized brick. He grimaces and sets his sandwich down without lifting his head. It’s quiet for a beat too long after that, as though maybe Zayn is holding onto the slim hope that Niall will miraculously change his mind and start to answer his questions.

Without any warning, Niall stands up from the table. He gathers his things and climbs off the metal bench, suddenly needing to be somewhere, _anywhere_ that isn’t here with Zayn and his disconcerting presence. “I have to go,” he mumbles, though he doesn’t know why he bothers opening his mouth. It’s not like he owes Zayn an explanation.

“Okay,” Zayn says easily. Niall chances a glance his way and finds him smiling, the edges of his mouth curling like Niall’s abrupt departure doesn’t affect him at all. He’s in the same position as yesterday, arms folded atop the table and posture relaxed. His nonchalance makes Niall’s head spin. “’Till English, then?”

The inside of Niall’s mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. With a jerky nod, he turns and speed walks out of the cafeteria, moving down the hall until he’s far enough away that the oxygen can come flooding back into his lungs.

*

Zayn doesn’t even acknowledge him this time when he walks into English following the lunch bell, and Niall slumps down in his desk with relief. 

Thank god.

The hand that’s been squeezing his chest in a vice all day loosens slightly, and he blows out a long breath as he pulls his copy of _A Streetcar Named Desire_ from his backpack. It’s water stained and the cover is bent, but at least all the pages are intact. Niall thanks whoever may be watching over him that he’d been able to snag the library’s last copy during break this morning.

Across the aisle from him, Cher is flipping through her shiny new copy of the play, the red cover so bright that it reminds Niall of a firetruck. He can see the price tag on the back where it’s facing him: $15.99. The numbers leave a sour taste in his mouth.

He tears his eyes away. The lesson was taught to him long ago that the worst thing he can do is compare. Nothing is ever equal- it’s better to accept that as fact than waste time and energy wanting what he can’t have.

They spend the period reading up on Tennessee Williams after Ms. Paul passes out a short biography, then working through the first scene of the play. Niall glues his eyes to his book as she assigns roles, Stanley and Blanche and Stella and on and on until every character has been covered. He doesn’t even pay attention when someone starts to read the opening stage directions- instead, he reads to himself, skipping ahead until the bell is ringing and he’s already halfway through scene two.

The room empties out quickly, and Niall is busy zipping up his backpack when someone comes to a stop in front of his desk.

“Niall! Do you have a second?”

He looks up at Ms. Paul, taking in her haphazard curls and her blinding smile. “Um, sure.” He doesn’t really- he should be getting to physics- but he can spare another minute before he has to run to the science wing.

“I was wondering if you've heard anything from Chicago. I know most admission decisions come out this week, and I can’t help it- I’m too curious for my own good.” Ms. Paul laughs, but Niall is too busy stomping down on the panic that’s bubbling in his stomach to laugh along with her. He feels a bit faint all of a sudden and has to reach out a hand to steady himself against his desk.

“Oh, yeah...I got my letter a couple of days ago,” he says weakly.

“Well?”

Ms. Paul’s grin is expectant, her brown eyes twinkling like she already knows the answer to her query. 

“I...I got in.” The words taste stale in Niall’s mouth, and when he smiles, it takes the strength of fifty professional wrestlers trying to lift a truck off of a dying dog. He can feel the expression falling flat on his face.

Bless Ms. Paul, however- she seems totally oblivious, her grin only widening until it’s completely overtaken her features. “I knew you would,” she babbles, squeezing his arm in congratulations. “You’ve got something really special, Niall. You could do anything in the world if you wanted it enough.”

Niall nods without really listening. There’s a rushing in his ears, and he needs to leave before he gets too dizzy and passes out without even making it to physics first. “Thank you. I- I really need to get to physics, but. Thanks.”

“Of course.” Ms. Paul squeezes his arm once more before dropping her hand, her smile softening into something even worse than excitement- pride. “Congratulations, Niall. You deserve this.”

Niall tries to smile one last time before he leaves, but all he can think about is the exhaustion that had plagued his dad’s face when he’d walked out the front door that morning.

*

Niall is unlocking his bike from the rack by the gym after school when the side doors burst open and a group of boys comes tumbling out, all of them decked out in shinguards and matching shorts. They’re loud and obnoxious, laughing and cajoling one another as they trek down the path towards the soccer field. Niall does his best to ignore them as he unwinds the lock from his tire and draws his bike out of the rack.

“I’ll catch up in a sec,” someone yells from behind him, and Niall is so busy adjusting his backpack and wheeling his bike onto the sidewalk that he doesn’t recognize the voice until the person is standing right in front of him. 

“Nice ride,” Zayn comments.

Niall’s head jerks up in shock. Of _course_ Zayn’s on the soccer team, he thinks. It’s amazing that he didn’t make the connection before now- the huge group of friends, the lean physique, the fact that Niall had never interacted with him until a few days ago. It all screams athlete, and Niall feels like a complete idiot for not realizing it sooner.

He stares down at Zayn’s cleats- they’re neon yellow with black laces, ugly as all get out if you ask Niall- but the surprise must still show on his face, because a moment later, Zayn laughs. “Spring training. It’s pretty stupid since I won’t be playing here after graduation, but it keeps me in shape, so.”

He’s doing that thing where he’s talking without being prompted to- like Niall’s asked him some kind of a question, even though his lips have actually been sealed shut ever since Zayn approached. It’s strange and kind of stupid, and Niall wants to tell him to shut up, but he grips his handlebars with both palms and nudges his kickstand back with his heel instead.

“Do you live close by?” Niall tunes him out as he lifts his leg over his bike frame and straddles the seat. “I used to bike every day, but then we moved into that new housing tract- you know, the one on the way to San Juan Capistrano?- so now it’s too far.”

The image of his own home, shoddy and run-down among streets filled with million dollar beach homes and condos, arises in his mind. Niall’s about to make a sarcastic comment- _wow, good for you-_ when the sound of Zayn’s name being called interrupts them.

“Zayn!” The curly haired boy from English- Henry? Harvey?- comes jogging up the hill that descends to the turf. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is unruly, pushed back with a headband that hardly does anything to keep it out of his face. He shoots a fleeting grin in Niall’s direction before his expression turns serious, his attention moving to Zayn. “Coach says you’ve got sixty seconds before he makes you do sprints through all of warm-up.”

“ _Shit,_ okay, Harry, I’m coming.” Niall makes a mental note- _Harry!-_ as Zayn mutters something else under his breath that’s indecipherable. “I have to go,” Zayn’s speaking to Niall again, and he waves Harry off when the other boy shoots him a pointed look. “Same time tomorrow, yeah?”

When he grins, his tongue catches between his teeth, and Niall kicks one foot onto his bike pedal as he watches Zayn jog backwards towards the sports fields. The other boy doesn’t turn away until he’s halfway down the hill, even as Harry babbles away at his side, and Niall catches sight of his hand waving just before the two of them disappear from sight. 

*

They’re setting up mirrors for an experiment having to do with concave and convex lenses when Liam asks, “who was that you were talking to yesterday?”

Niall blinks, stilling with a sheet of glass still in his hand. When he glances sideways, Liam is busy fiddling with their flashlight, and Niall wonders if he’s even heard the question correctly. “Huh?”

“Yesterday after school,” Liam clarifies, propping the flashlight up on an eraser so that the beam hits the lens in the right spot. “I was heading out to the track when I saw you talking to someone by the gym.”

The mirror in Niall’s hand is suddenly the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “Oh,” he mumbles, keeping his head down. “That was, um. Zayn.”

Zayn, who was waiting at Niall’s lunch table again today, munching on an apple and flipping through his copy of _Streetcar_ for English. “Forgot to read last night,” he’d explained in greeting. “I figured I should at least skim it before we get to class.”

Niall stayed long enough to finish his sandwich and then took off, choosing to hide out in the library until the bell.

“Zayn?” Niall carefully places the mirror a few inches away from the flashlight. “Are you guys friends?”

“No.” The answer comes too quick, and Niall adds, “we have English together, that’s all.”

It’s more words than he’s spoken to Liam in a long time, and if the look on Liam’s face is anything to go by, he’s well aware of that. Thankfully the interrogation stops there, but Niall doesn’t miss the way both of Liam’s eyebrows go climbing up into his hairline.

*

_Thwap!_

The pencil Niall’s holding suddenly jolts across the page when the spitball hits him, square in the neck. A jagged gray line now mars the notes he’s been taking on the process of passing a law, and Niall squeezes his eyes shut in order to school his frustration. 

Another one of those days, then.

At least it’s Friday, he tells himself. Just three more periods until he can lock himself in his room for the next forty-eight hours with no spitball-shooting burnouts and, more importantly, no _Zayn_ to bother him.

Niall takes a deep breath. He can do this.

He keeps his head down for the rest of class, and it’s not until calc is over and he’s digging through his backpack in front of his locker that he realizes he must have left his lunch sitting on his desk after class had ended. He’d taken it out of his bag so that he could shove his books inside without smashing anything, and then he’d forgotten to put it back again.

Niall slams his locker shut and retraces his steps back to Mr. McClanahan’s room. The door is already shut, and when he jiggles the handle, it doesn’t budge.

Great.

His feet are dragging as he enters the cafeteria. The lunch line is already stupidly long, but it doesn’t matter much anyway. Niall takes one look inside his empty wallet before he shoves it back into his pocket dejectedly.

He’s slow in walking to his usual table. Zayn’s there, already sitting in what’s come to be his spot with his back to the window so that he can see Niall as soon as he enters the room. Today, he looks up at Niall’s face briefly before his eyes drop to Niall’s hands, which are void of both his routine book and paper bag. 

“Where’s your lunch?” he asks. His own seems to consist of some kind of curry with rice, which he eats out of a tupperware container with a plastic fork gripped in his hand. As Niall drops heavily into his seat, however, Zayn sets the container down and frowns. His dark eyes are wide with concern, and Niall’s too defeated to even feel annoyed at this point.

“Forgot it,” he states. As if on cue, his stomach rumbles.

“They have burgers today, I think,” Zayn tips his head in the direction of the lunch line. He’s not smiling, and there’s no smug look on his face like Niall’s expecting after finally giving him a response. He just looks worried. “...if you’re really hungry?”

Niall’s empty wallet is burning a hole in his pocket. “Can’t,” he mumbles. “No cash.”

He wraps an arm around his middle and leans forward until his forehead is pressed against the cool surface of the table. Zayn is probably staring- he’s always staring- but Niall couldn’t care less at this point. He’s hungry and he’s tired and he needs this day to be _over._

“Hey.” The word is spoken so softly that Niall actually picks up his head and peers over at Zayn, startled by the kindness in the other boy’s voice. Their eyes meet, and Zayn carefully pushes his curry across the table until it’s right in front of Niall. “You can eat some of this, if you want.”

The food smells delicious, is the thing. It’s all thick sauce and warm spices and Zayn is simply sitting there like he wants nothing more than for Niall to take him up on the offer, his eyes wide and sincere.

Niall bites his lip. “I couldn’t-”

“Please,” Zayn says quietly. 

Any other protests die in Niall’s throat. His hands are shaking as he pulls the container closer to him, and he can barely wrap his fingers around the fork with how discomfited he is. The inside of his mouth has grown unbearably dry, and his tongue feels like it weighs a thousand pounds when he murmurs, “thanks.”

That seems to bring some  of the light back into Zayn’s eyes, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a faint smile. He nods towards the curry. “C’mon, take a bite. You at least have to let me know what you think.”

Niall obeys. He scoops a bite onto the plastic fork, and the flavors explode when they hit his tongue, rich and exotic and slightly overwhelming. It’s so good that he has to close his eyes and chew extra slow so that he can savor the moment.

He opens his eyes again, and Zayn’s smiling like he already knows what Niall’s about to say. The tips of Niall’s ears burn from being caught out in the middle of his foodgasm, and he ducks his head to escape Zayn’s amused look.

“It’s really good,” he admits.

“I know.” This time, Zayn _is_ smug, and Niall can’t help but roll his eyes. 

“Who made it?” he asks.

“My mom. She’s the best cook I know- I’m not even exaggerating when I say that.” The soft smile returns to Zayn’s face at the mention of his family, and something pangs in the back of Niall’s chest. “Have as much as you want.”

Niall says nothing, but he does scoop up more curry and rice and load it into his mouth. As he chews, Zayn starts to talk, and for once Niall actually finds himself listening.

“I remember when I was younger, before Don moved out- Doniya, she’s my older sister- my mom would cook for hours, and then we’d all sit down for family dinner every night, without fail.” Zayn shrugs, but Niall can see the nostalgia written across his features when he peeks across the table. “Now the girls always have their dance classes and whatever, and I’m usually off at practice anyway, so we don’t really have time anymore.”

Niall pokes at a piece of chicken with his fork. Without lifting his head, he asks, “how many sisters do you have?”

“Three.” Zayn ticks them off on his fingers. “Doniya, Walihya, and Safaa. Far too much estrogen for one household, if you ask me.”

“It sounds nice.”

“It is, most of the time.” Zayn cracks a small smile, and it’s obvious from the begrudging nature of it that he really does care a lot for his family. For some reason, Niall finds himself staring, tracing his eyes from the faint curve of Zayn’s nose down to the strong lines of his jaw. He’s decked out in a short-sleeve blue flannel today over a white t-shirt that has some kind of design on it- from across the table, they don’t look like much more than little doodles. There’s gel in his hair, and when Niall looks down at where Zayn’s hands are folded in front of him, he notices the rings that adorn some of his fingers. He looks effortlessly cool in a way that Niall could never hope to achieve, and with that thought, the confusion returns.

Why is someone like Zayn even bothering with him? Trying to talk to him? Sharing his _lunch_ with him?

Niall doesn’t realized he’s zoned out, plastic fork hovering halfway between the tupperware container and his mouth, until Zayn knocks his knuckles against the table. The sound is startling, drawing Niall out of whatever stupor he’d settled into. He drops the fork back into the curry and lifts his head.

The expression on Zayn’s face is hard to read. His eyes are searching, like he’s trying hard to figure something out, and the attention isn’t all that comfortable. Niall shifts in his seat.

“Um.” He nudges the container of curry back across the table. “I should-”

The bell rings.

Zayn pops the cap back on over his food. “I need to go grab my books,” he says, standing. “See you in a few.”

After flashing Niall a smile, he takes off, and the whole thing happens so fast that Niall's left wondering if it's all just been in his imagination.


	3. Chapter 3

The weekend flies by. Niall kills the time by alternating between homework and _Never Let Me Go,_ which he finally finishes on Sunday night. When he reaches the end of the last page, he finds himself sitting there in his bed for a long moment as he stares into nothing.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

It’s _sad,_ is the thing. The whole book is like- like standing frozen and watching a train roll to the edge of a cliff, nothing left to do except watch it reach the end of the track and listen to the screams of the passengers as they plummet to their deaths.

It takes Niall a long time to fall asleep after that.

*

On Monday, Niall slaps his book harshly down onto the lunch table in greeting.

Zayn’s eyes dart to the cover, then up at Niall. He raises a single brow. “I take it you finished?”

“What kind of an ending is that?” The table groans when Niall throws his weight down into his seat, his arms gesticulating wildly. “Like, obviously I _know_ they’re going to die, they’re donors, I get it. But couldn’t Ishiguro have, I don’t know, saved Ruth and Tommy’s deaths for offscreen?”

He’s out of breath by the end of his little rant, and when he looks across the table, Zayn’s watching him with his lips tipped up in amusement. It’s only mildly infuriating, since the majority of Niall’s anger is currently being occupied by the novel in front of him.

“If he’d done that, the book wouldn’t have been as good,” says Zayn.

Logistically speaking, Niall _recognizes_ that, but- he’s upset, okay? 

With a sigh, he slumps forward and rests his chin on his hand. “It’s just so _sad_ ,” he mutters.

It’s when he notices Zayn’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter that Niall remembers- he doesn’t do this. He doesn’t speak more than a few words to Zayn at a time, and he definitely doesn’t go on full-fledged rants about his books.

The heat crawls up his neck, and Niall swallows to prevent anything else ridiculous from coming out of his mouth.

“Do you think you’ll ever recover?”

Zayn’s _teasing_ him. What is his life, honestly?

Niall doesn’t respond, instead choosing to fold his arms across the table and bury his head in them.

“All terribly sad books aside, how was your weekend?” There’s still laughter in Zayn’s voice, and he doesn’t wait for an answer. “I had to drive Safaa- my sister, I mentioned her last week, remember?- to her dance competition up in LA. It took us almost three hours, traffic was so miserable. Honestly, like- where could all those people possibly be going at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning?”

He’s still rambling when Niall decides it’s safe to pick his head up off the table. Something about little girls and sequins- Niall’s only half listening, but Zayn keeps going. And going. He’s pretty talkative on any given day, but this- this seems kind of extreme.

Ten minutes pass, and Niall can’t take it anymore. “Zayn.”

The story Zayn’s been telling comes to a halt as he glances at Niall in surprise. “Yeah?”

“Take a breath.” It’s supposed to come from a place of annoyance, except it doesn’t sound that way to Niall’s ears at all. He shuts his mouth immediately after he says it, but it’s too late. Zayn’s seen right through him, if the slow smile unfurling across his face is anything to go by.

Niall busies himself with unwrapping the sandwich he’s practically forgotten he’s brought.

“I’m wearing you down,” Zayn says, something akin to wonder in his voice.

Frowning to himself, Niall bites into his sandwich and doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the lunch period.

*

On Tuesday, Niall skips the cafeteria altogether and eats his lunch at the top of the football bleachers.

He does his best not to dwell on the confusion that clouds Zayn’s features when they make split-second eye contact during English.

*

Wednesday, he does the same thing. Come physics, there’s a knot in Niall’s stomach that he can’t ignore, though he still tries to tell himself it has nothing to do with the disappointed expression that had been on Zayn’s face when he’d walked into English today.

Once the bell rings, Mr. McMahon hands out a packet of practice AP problems and then leaves them free to work for the rest of the period. Liam is already skimming through the first problem when he seems to notice that Niall hasn’t even picked up his pencil, his eyes focused somewhere on the whiteboard at the front of the room.

“You okay?”

“What?” Niall blinks and tries to shake himself out of whatever _this_ is, but the knot in his stomach doesn’t loosen. “Oh. I’m fine.”

It takes a few seconds before he feels settled enough to pick up his pencil, and when he does, he realizes that Liam is still watching him. He doesn’t say anything though, so Niall tries to focus on his packet. The velocity vs. time graph that’s inked onto the front page instantly blurs before his eyes.

“Does this have anything to do with Zayn?”

Niall goes rigid. “What?” he repeats.

“Zayn. You’ve been talking to him, right? After school last week, and then on Monday, in the cafeteria.” Liam’s expression is curious, not judgmental, like he’s truly just worried for Niall’s wellbeing. His brown eyes are big and sad, much like they’d been last week when he’d split his Snickers bar with Niall in order to make him feel better.

Stupid Liam and his stupid, too big heart.

“It’s not important.” Niall waves the inquiry off, but Liam won’t budge. His frown only deepens, and it twists like a knife in Niall’s chest, knowing that he’s the one who’s put that look there. It’s even worse than kicking a puppy.

“Your feelings are important,” Liam insists.

Niall hangs his head.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but...you can if you want to,” Liam continues, turning back to his work. “I’m here.”

He picks up his pencil and returns his attention to the problem in front of him, and Niall swallows around the lump in his throat before doing the same.

*

Thursday is the worst by far. Niall is sitting in calc when out of nowhere, the sky outside opens up and rain starts coming down in sheets. In typical Southern California fashion, it happens without any warning at all. Water pounds noisily against the window, and the whole class grows so distracted that Mr. McClanahan merely sighs before he decides to save the rest of his lesson on solids of revolution for the next class period.

When the bell rings, Niall heads straight for the library, even as multiple invisible strings seem to tug at his limbs in an attempt to drag him towards the cafeteria. He spends lunch getting ahead on his gov homework and steadfastly not thinking about Zayn. Zayn, who has to have given up on him by now. It’s been three days of nothing- if ever there was a hint for him to take, this would be it.

The rain doesn’t let up all afternoon. By the time the final bell chimes and classes are done for the day, Niall doesn’t even feel relieved. Dread curls in his stomach at the thought of biking home in this weather- he’s wearing a blue t-shirt and jeans, hardly outfitted for a bike ride in a thunderstorm.

It’s looking like he doesn’t have much choice. His dad’s already taken the truck to work, so Niall resigns himself to ruining one of his only good pairs of jeans and heads outside. 

As soon as he rounds the corner of the gym and spots the bike racks, he comes to an abrupt halt.

Zayn is standing there, and by the looks of it, he’s not faring much better than Niall. His jacket is one of those half-denim, half-sweatshirt ones that are more for looks than protection, yet he doesn’t look too bothered as he waits next to Niall’s bike, even as water soaks him to the bone.

“What are you _doing?”_ Niall jogs towards him, backpack held up above his head to shelter himself from the rain. He comes to a stop a few feet away from the other boy, who lifts his head when he hears Niall approaching.

“Practice got cancelled and I figured you could use a ride,” Zayn says. He doesn’t smile like he normally would. His hair is a soggy mess, the front strands hanging out from under his hood and sticking to his forehead.

Niall’s gut twists. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, taking a small step forward so that he can get to his bike. “I don’t live that far-”

“Niall.” A hand darts out and latches onto his lower forearm, and it’s like every nerve ending sparks to life where Zayn’s hand comes in contact with his skin. When Niall gathers the courage to glance at him, all he can see is the resignation in Zayn’s eyes. “Let me drive you home. Please.”

It’s the defeated note in his voice that does it. Niall sighs and bites his lip, moving backwards until Zayn releases the grip he has on Niall’s wrist. “Alright.”

Zayn nods and steps out of the way long enough for Niall to unlock his bike. The two of them then head for the parking lot in silence, Niall walking the bike along while Zayn hovers a foot or so away. The rain continues. By the time they reach Zayn’s truck- an old Ford with rusted blue paint and a bench seat- Niall is cold and shivering, the hairs on his exposed arms standing up on end.

They load the bike up into the truck bed and climb into the cab, where Zayn immediately turns on the engine and cranks the heater. Niall dumps his sopping wet backpack into the footwell between his knees and prays that all of his books are still intact.

“You’ll just have to give me directions,” Zayn says quietly. Niall nods and turns his attention to the window as they peel out of the parking lot, counting the water droplets as they hit the glass. The inside of the truck is silent minus the occasional “left here” or “right at the light” from Niall, who keeps his hands fisted in his lap the whole time. It’s uncomfortable in a way that being around Zayn has never been. Sure, Niall’s felt awkward before, but never so uncertain of himself, like he wants to cut off a layer of his own skin just to escape the strangling atmosphere that’s engulfed them.

It’s less than a ten minute ride to Niall’s house, and he’s never been more grateful for fogged up car windows than he is when he pictures his home’s sagging roof and dead front yard. He lifts his backpack into his lap, one hand on the door handle and a short _thank you_ on the tip of his tongue. Zayn’s voice makes him pause.

“Look, I...” Niall looks over to find Zayn with both hands still gripped tightly around the steering wheel, his lips pursed. “If I’d known I was actually bothering you...I would have left you alone, alright? I didn’t think I was making you that uncomfortable.” A sigh blows out from between his lips, and Niall can see his chest deflate with the force of it. “I just- I’m sorry if I did. Make you uncomfortable, I mean. For real.”

Zayn’s palms slip from the steering wheel at last, one of them rising just long enough to push the wet hair out of his face. His gaze slides over to Niall, then, and there’s nothing but raw apology there- his eyebrows are drawn down, and he looks like he wants to say more, but he’s holding back.

The knot that’s taken up residence in Niall’s stomach since Tuesday gives a sharp tug before it climbs up into his throat and lodges itself there. Zayn is genuinely hurt. He genuinely thinks that he’s done something to upset Niall after- what? Doing nothing but make pleasant conversation and attempt to be his friend for almost two weeks now?

Meanwhile, Niall’s been so busy automatically assuming that none of Zayn’s actions were genuine that he’s failed to realize _he’s_ the one who’s been keeping his walls up and doing the deceiving- not the other way around.

Never in Niall’s life has he felt so despicable. He wants to throw up. “Zayn-”

There are a million things he could say. In fact, it’s been ages since he’s so desperately wanted- _needed-_ to explain himself to someone, and that’s terrifying. Niall’s chest constricts, and then his throat follows its lead and he can’t even speak.

“It’s okay,” Zayn is saying, but it’s not. It’s not okay at all, and Niall has to _tell him that_ , but all he can do is open and close his mouth like a gaping fish, his heart settling somewhere near his feet.

“I’ll- I’ll see you in English.”

With that, Zayn turns to face forward.

It’s a dismissal if Niall’s ever heard one. 

His entire body feels heavy as he shoulders his backpack and slips out of the cab, going around back to grab his bike. Zayn doesn’t move from his seat, and after Niall and his bike are both safely stood on the sidewalk, he shifts the truck into gear and pulls away from the curb without even a wave goodbye.

*

Entering the cafeteria on Friday feels a lot like stepping onto a battlefield. There’s no book in Niall’s hands today, just his usual brown paper bag. He steps through the doors with his heart in his throat, his eyes immediately sliding over to his table.

It’s empty.

He tells himself that it’s fine, that he’s been expecting this. After all, he’s been avoiding Zayn all week- it’s only fair that the other boy take his own turn.

Especially after whatever- _that_ was that had happened in Zayn’s truck. The look on Zayn’s face had imprinted itself in Niall’s mind for the rest of the night, their conversation playing back on a loop. Niall had hardly been able to focus on his homework, much less force his body to calm down long enough to get more than a few measly hours of sleep.

_It’s okay,_ Zayn had said.

But here’s Niall, alone at his lunch table for the first time in two weeks and so very, very much _not_ okay.

He’s not hungry at all, but he still sits down and unwraps his sandwich on autopilot.

This has never happened to him before. He’s never once minded his solitude- he’s always preferred it, even. It wasn’t like he’d asked Zayn to come up to him that first day. He wasn’t some loner desperate for friends or attention, he was just...reserved. Cautious. Friends weren’t on his priority list for any reason other than that they seemed like more trouble than they were worth.

But if that’s always been the case, then right now why does Niall feel so alone?


	4. Chapter 4

Following the horrendous affair that is lunch, Niall deduces that he only has one option:

He has to apologize to Zayn.

Which brings him to the present: hovering in the back of Ms. Paul’s room as he psychs himself up to approach a curly head of hair that’s become at least marginally more familiar to him over the past few days.

Niall takes a deep breath. “Harry?”

Harry spins around in his seat at the sound of his name, his eyes widening in recognition. “Oh, hi!” He grins, and it’s the brightest thing Niall’s ever seen. His dimples are nearly as deep as the Grand Canyon. “You’re Niall.”

The enthusiasm throws Niall for a bit of loop, but he forces himself to stay focused. “Yeah.” He grips his backpack straps like a lifeline and glances sideways at the clock. They’ve only got another minute or so until Zayn shows up to class, and having a deadline is the sole thing that’s stopping Niall from vomiting all over Harry’s shoes. “Listen, could I-” he swallows to keep his voice from wavering. “Would you mind switching seats with me for today? I just...I really need to talk to Zayn.”

Comprehension is slow to dawn on Harry’s face. Niall keeps darting looks at the clock all the while, and he’s about ready to give up and sulk back to his regular seat when Harry abruptly stands. “Sure thing. You sit up front, right?”

He’s already gathering his things, and Niall barely has the chance to thank him before he squeezes past, shooting Niall a little thumbs up.

“Don’t worry,” Harry reassures him. 

It doesn’t do much to squash the nerves wiggling around in Niall’s stomach.

He takes his- Harry’s- seat and pulls out his notebook to distract himself as he awaits Zayn arrival.

Less than a minute later, said boy walks into the room. Niall watches from the corner of his eye as Zayn looks towards Niall’s usual desk first, his face wrinkling in confusion when he finds Harry there.

Niall has to sit on his hands to keep them from shaking.

It seems like an eternity before Zayn makes his way down the aisle and comes to a stop beside his normal seat, right across from where Niall has his eyes glued to his notebook. For a second, he thinks that Zayn might forego his desk altogether (and _god,_ has he really messed up that badly?), until the other boy drops his bag and slides into his chair, right as the bell rings.

Neither of them says anything as Ms. Paul orders the class to take out their copies of _Streetcar,_ and Niall’s sure he’s never been this on-edge in his entire seventeen years of living. He reaches down to grab his book from his backpack at the same time Zayn does. Their eyes catch on the way back up, Zayn pausing and holding his gaze.

After a beat too long, Niall clears his throat and straightens up the rest of the way. He can feel Zayn’s eyes on him for another moment before he finally turns away and opens up his book, and Niall forces himself to mimic the motion. 

They stay like that, hiding behind their respective books for the first chunk of class. Occasionally Niall’s eyes will dart sideways, but Zayn’s expression remains neutral, his attention solely focused on the pages in front of him.

Niall chews briefly at his thumbnail and decides it’s time to break out a different tactic.

He flips to an empty page in his notebook and picks up his pencil. A long line gets drawn down the center of the page. On the top margin of one side, he writes in all caps: THINGS ZAYN DID WRONG. 

_1\. wasn’t COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY DESTROYED by the ending of never let me go_

On the other side he puts, THINGS NIALL DID WRONG.

_1\. made stupid assumptions_

_2\. avoided zayn_

_3\. didn’t apologize and explain himself when he should have_

_4\. let zayn talk WAY too much_

He rips the paper out of the notebook and folds it into quarters. When Ms. Paul turns her back to write something on the whiteboard, he reaches across the aisle and carefully slides it onto Zayn’s desk without looking at him.

Mission now complete, Niall proceeds to pick up his book and pretends to become totally engrossed in it. 

Except he’s watching from the corner of his eye as Zayn shoots him a befuddled look, then places his index finger on the note and slides it closer to himself. He unfolds it slowly, smoothing the page out against his desk before his eyes finally drop to the words that are written there.

Niall’s brain is a nervous mess as he looks for any sign of Zayn’s reaction, but there’s nothing. The other boy’s eyes keep flitting back and forth across the page while his face stays frustratingly neutral.

The hope in Niall’s chest starts to fizzle out. Maybe he can’t fix this, after all.

He’s about to resign himself to a life of sherpa-ing in the Himalayas when a crumpled ball of paper hits him in the chest and falls into his lap. 

He glances at the paper, then turns towards Zayn. The other boy isn’t facing him, but there’s a small smile tugging at his lips as he tries to hide his face behind his copy of _Streetcar._

Niall’s stomach somersaults as he unravels the note beneath his desk. 

THINGS NIALL DID WRONG. 

_1\. made stupid assumptions_

_2\. avoided zayn_

~~ _3\. didn’t apologize and explain himself when he should have_ ~~

_4\. let zayn talk WAY too much_

Zayn has crossed out number 3 and then, beneath the list, he’s added one more thing:

_5\. talked to harry...now he’s going to think they’re bros for life!!!!_

A snort of laughter escapes him, and he only has a second to be embarrassed before Zayn’s hand appears in his line of vision. He raps his knuckles twice against Niall’s desk in what’s come to be their little sign of acknowledgement, and the ball of anxiety in Niall’s chest unwinds itself at last. 

* 

“So.”

A shadow falls over Niall and forces him to look up from where he’s unlocking his bike. Zayn is standing there with his hands on his hips, a lopsided smile on his face. 

Niall drags the lock the rest of the way out of his tire and coils the wire up in his hand as he pushes himself to his feet. “So.”

Zayn moves aside to make space as Niall slides past him to tug his bike from the rack. “Does this mean we’re friends now?” he asks. 

“I don’t really do ‘friends.’” Niall says, flipping his kickstand back and looking over at Zayn. 

“But?”

“But...” Zayn’s smile widens into a full-blown grin, and Niall shakes his head as the edges of his own mouth threaten to curl. “I guess we sort of are.” He scuffs his toe across the pavement, bike handlebars gripped in both hands. “Liam’s going to be so mad,” he mumbles, mostly to himself.

“Who’s Liam?”

“My lab partner.” Niall climbs onto his bike, standing over the frame with his feet planted on either side. “He’s been trying to befriend me since the first day of school.”

“Wow. That’s dedication.” Zayn lifts one hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he speaks, and Niall can see his _ZAP!_ tattoo again. The reds and yellows are even brighter away from the dim lighting of the cafeteria. 

“He’s just...too friendly for his own good,” Niall shrugs. Normally, he’d be making excuses at this point to get away from Zayn or school or _whatever_ so he could retreat to his bedroom, but this...this feels an awful lot like stalling. It’s like he’s making excuses to _stay._  

“I hate to ask, but you’re not going to ignore me come Monday, right?”

Niall’s face grows hot and he shakes his head.

“Good.” Zayn nods once, then tucks his hands into his backpack straps and tips his head vaguely in the direction of the parking lot. “I actually do have to go, though.” Regret colors his voice, and Niall tries not to feel too disappointed as well.

“Okay,” he murmurs, fiddling with the gear shift on his bike. “Um. Enjoy your weekend.”

An awkward beat. “Thanks. You too.” Zayn shifts on his feet and reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Don’t read anymore sad books, okay?” 

Niall bites down on another smile. “I won’t.”

*

If the previous weekend went by in the the blink of an eye, this one seems to drag on even longer than the annual 24-hour marathon of _A Christmas Story_ on TBS. All day Saturday, Niall can’t seem to sit still. He paces the entire house to the point where his dad actually throws the newspaper at him and tells him to go burn off his energy somewhere else.

So Niall spends the rest of the weekend either holed up in the public library or riding his bike around town, trying to calm his rolling stomach and failing completely. Monday is all he can think about- what will he say to Zayn? How do friends even act around one another? Are they supposed to talk outside of lunch now? 

Come Monday morning, trying to stomach his usual bowl of Cheerios is like swallowing cardboard. He leaves for school a solid twenty minutes earlier than he needs to, and he’s already sweating through his white shirt by the time he’s parking his bike at the racks. With an embarrassed shake of his head, he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows and pops open the first button at his chest, hoping the air will soothe his oversensitive nerves.

His heart rate is just coming back under control as he walks into the school building. It’s still pretty deserted with there being at least twenty minutes until the bell, and Niall is grateful there’s no one around to- quite literally- see him sweat. _Relax,_ he scolds himself, shaking out the tension in his shoulders and heading down the hall towards his locker.

Someone else has beaten him there.

“How do you...” _know where my locker is,_ he starts to say, but the words die in the back of his throat. Zayn straightens up from where he’s been leaning against the metal, hands tucked into his pockets and mouth curved into a hesitant smile as if to ask, _is this okay?_ He’s wearing a dark blue button down and black jeans, his hair gelled messily into its regular style.

“I might’ve asked the front office?” Zayn’s smile turns sheepish, his body twisting around to make room so that Niall can reach his locker. “I promise I’m not normally this creepy. I just wanted to make sure you really weren’t going to ignore me, you know?”

Niall bites the inside of his cheek before carefully sliding into the space Zayn has created, his fingers trembling as he spins in his combination. “I wasn’t going to ignore you,” he says quietly, lifting the latch and opening his locker.

“I know that now.” Zayn’s eyes burn holes into the side of Niall’s head as he pulls his books down from the shelf and stuffs them into his backpack. “How come you’re here so early?”

“How come _you’re_ here so early?” Niall counters. The metal clangs when he knocks his locker door shut.

He slings his backpack over one shoulder and finally looks at Zayn head-on. The other boy’s voice is colored with amusement as he says, “touché.”

At that, Niall smiles to himself and ducks his head. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, the silence growing between them until Zayn suddenly asks, “what do you have first period?”

“Um.” Niall scratches at the exposed tip of his chest. “Spanish.”

“Ah, _bueno,_ ” Zayn says exaggeratedly, and Niall’s careful smile widens. “I have government, then bio. Did you know it’s been scientifically proven that it’s impossible to pass the AP Bio exam?”

“I did not.”

“Yeah, well, it’s true. I hate that class.” The hallway is beginning to fill up around them, and Zayn sidesteps closer to the lockers to stay out of the way. The movement shortens the minute distance between he and Niall even more. “What do you usually during break?”

“I kind of just...I don’t know,” Niall rubs his chin and looks down. “Most of the time I work on homework.”

“Where?” Zayn asks.

“There’s a bench by the computer lab that I like.” 

“Cool. I’ll meet you there.” Niall blinks, but Zayn just grins easily before turning away. “Have fun in Spanish.”

 He waves over his shoulder, and Niall’s so flustered that he completely forgets to wave back.

*

Zayn shows up two minutes into break with a muffin in his hand and a bottle of water in the other. Without waiting for an invitation, he drops onto the bench next to Niall and smiles so big that the corners of his eyes crinkle.

He offers up half of his muffin, then spends the next fifteen minutes pestering Niall with variations of _how do you say “this” in Spanish?_

(As it turns out, Zayn is taking French. He has it fourth period.) 

*

“I meant to tell you this morning- I like your shirt.”

 Niall looks down at his chest, then back across the lunch table. “Oh.” It’s literally just his white henley, buttons still undone from his panic attack earlier, but this has already been the strangest day Niall’s lived through in a long time, so what’s one more oddball comment? “...thanks.”

Zayn shoots him a close-lipped smile, then takes a bite from the apple that he’s been tossing back and forth between his hands for the past ten minutes. He continues to smile as he chews.

*

When they walk into English together, Harry is already sitting in Niall’s usual desk. He grins when he spots them and lifts his hand in a little salute.

“No offense, but I don’t think Cher misses you very much,” Zayn mumbles once they’ve taken their seats at the back of the room. Niall follows his gaze and sure enough, Harry has Cher engaged in a rather intense conversation, if his wild hand gestures are anything to go by. 

“I’ve talked to her twice this year,” Niall says. “I wouldn’t miss me, either.”

He’s pulling his copy of _Streetcar_ from his backpack when he hears Zayn mutter, “sick, that means I’m still winning.”

Niall rolls his eyes and turns his attention to his book.

* 

In physics, Liam takes one look at Niall before he says, “you seem happy.”

“Huh?” Niall settles into his seat and unzips his backpack, his eyes flitting momentarily in Liam’s direction. “I’m...fine. Normal, I guess.”

“Normal,” Liam echoes thoughtfully. He doesn’t look too convinced. “Okay. So whatever was bothering you last week isn’t anymore?”

“Um, no. Everything’s good now.” Niall places his notebook on his desk and shoves his backpack beneath his chair without elaborating. “How was your weekend?” 

Liam’s expression morphs into one of surprise at the question, but it’s also evident that he’s pleased Niall’s making an effort at conversation, if the little smile that appears on his lips is any indication. “It was good! We had a track meet in Irvine so I was gone for most of it.”

Niall nods along and is flipping open to his latest page of notes when Liam adds, “actually, I wanted to ask you something.”

Apprehension is quick to sink in, but Niall tries to stay calm. “...okay.”

“There’s a home track meet after school on Wednesday. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come?”

Niall’s mouth pops open in shock. This is the first time _ever_ that Liam’s made an attempt at pursuing their- friendship?- outside of class, and Niall’s not too sure how he feels about it. 

“Come? You mean, like...to watch?”

“Well, yeah.” Liam smiles his understanding little smile. “It’s okay if you can’t, I just wanted to offer anyway.”

“I...” Niall should probably decline the invitation. What place does he have at a track meet, anyway? It’s just- Liam’s smile has turned a bit hopeful, and Niall knows that even when Liam _says_ he doesn’t have to come, he’ll still get that crushed look on his face if Niall says no and things between them will probably be awkward for awhile-

Niall clears his throat. “Sure.”

Liam blinks like he’s not expecting the response. “What?”

“Sure, I’ll come.”

The expression on Liam’s face is the equivalent of a little kid on Christmas. His mouth splits open on a huge grin and his eyes literally start to sparkle- with excitement or gratitude, Niall isn’t certain. 

“Awesome,” Liam breathes out. “It starts at 3:30. Come whenever you want.” 

*

Niall’s not expecting to see Zayn once the final bell rings, since he’s assuming the other boy has that spring soccer training he’s always whining about. Thus he’s rather surprised to find Zayn waiting for him at the bike racks, already dressed down in his practice gear with a mesh bag full of soccer balls resting at his feet.

“How do you always make it out here so fast?” 

Zayn grins at him. “Oh, did I forget to tell you? I can teleport.”

“Ah. Makes sense.”

Niall doesn’t make a move to get to his bike, which is good, since Zayn doesn’t make his normal effort to step out of the way.

“Do you, uh.” Niall’s looking at the ground now, one hand scratching at the back of his neck. Before he can chicken out, he wets his tongue over his lips and asks, “do you have practice on Wednesdays?”

“Nah, we have Wednesdays and Fridays off.” One of Zayn’s eyebrows arches curiously. “Why?”

It’s now or never, Niall figures. “Liam asked me to come to his track meet after school, if...you maybe wanted to come with me?”

“Liam.” It’s like Zayn’s rolling the name around inside of his mouth, tasting the syllables on the tip of his tongue. “The lab partner?” he clarifies.

Niall jerks his head in a nod. “You don’t have to,” he adds quickly, nerves swarming in his stomach. “I just thought-”

“It sounds cool,” Zayn interrupts, and Niall’s mouth snicks shut. “I have to pick up my sisters at 4:30, but I should be able to stay for a little while." 

He picks up the bag of soccer balls and hefts it over his shoulder just as his teammates start to filter out of the gym behind them, laughing and making a general ruckus. “See you in the morning?” he asks.

“Probably.”

“So that’s a definitely,” Zayn nods to himself. 

Niall's smiling begrudgingly when he finally goes to shoulder past Zayn and unlock his bike. " _Goodbye,_ Zayn."

He doesn't turn around, but he thinks he can hear Zayn's own smile when he mumbles "bye, Niall" in response.


	5. Chapter 5

“So we just sit here and watch people run?”

“I guess so.”

Zayn gaze slides in Niall’s direction, his fingers _tip-tapping_ against the metal bleachers where they’re currently seated. “Do people actually observe these things for fun?”

Niall props his feet up on the row of bleachers below them and scans the track for any sign of Liam. “I have no idea,” he says honestly.

A small laugh filters out of Zayn’s mouth, and the sound reminds Niall of wind chimes- or something equally as light and melodic. He smiles and keeps his eyes on the field, where he finally spots Liam over in the far left corner with some teammates.

“There.” Niall points in the direction he’s been looking, and Zayn follows the motion with his eyes. “He told me today that his events are earlier on in the meet, so you won’t have to stay too long if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” Zayn follows Niall’s lead and sets his Doc Marten-clad feet on the bench in front of him, crossing one ankle over the other and tipping his head back to catch the sunlight that’s beating down on them. It’s warmer than average for Orange County in early April, but there’s a balmy breeze rolling in off the coast that tickles Niall’s arms as it passes over them. He peels his eyes away from Zayn and glances back at the track, where someone has blown a whistle and the first runners are taking their places at the starting blocks.

They watch the first race in silence, and Niall’s so caught up in his own thoughts (is he supposed to start the conversation, since he’s the one who invited Zayn in the first place?) that he almost misses it when Zayn speaks.

“Tell me something about yourself.”

Niall turns, but Zayn’s not looking at him, his eyes closed as he basks in the afternoon sun. “Huh?”

“I still don’t know very much about you, except that you like books and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.” Zayn slants one eye open, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Tell me something new about Niall Horan.”

“Like what?”

Zayn straightens up from his lounging position and rotates until he’s facing Niall, the expression on his face turning pensive. “Hm. When’s your birthday?”

“September thirteenth.”

“Are you young or old for our grade?”

“Younger,” Niall admits. “I’m still seventeen.”

“Explains the baby face,” Zayn teases, and Niall shoots him a sharp look. “I turned eighteen on January twelfth. ”

Niall’s eyes slide over to the track again, but he doesn’t see Liam anywhere near the starting blocks, so he figures it’s okay to be distracted for now.

“How long have you had braces?”

“A little over two years now.”

“Do you have any pets?”

“Nope.”

They continue like that, Zayn throwing random questions Niall’s way and Niall feeding him short, few-word answers. Eventually Zayn stops sharing his own responses altogether, content to focus all of his attention on whatever it is Niall has to say. It’s a bit unsettling, this genuine interest Zayn seems to have in extracting information from him, but after awhile Niall adjusts to the scrutiny and decides to just play along, the nerves in his stomach settling down slightly.

It’s been about fifteen minutes when Zayn asks, “plans for next year?”

Niall swallows, the image of his desk drawer rising unbidden in his mind. “Um. School, most likely.”

“Do you know where yet?” Zayn seems genuinely curious, but that doesn’t stop Niall’s chest from cramping up and his eyes from flitting away.

“No. Been accepted a few places.”

“Whereabouts?”

Niall stares down at a fraying patch of denim located next to his knee. “San Marcos, Long Beach, Riverside.” He lists them off slowly, then adds, much quieter: “the University of Chicago.”

When he dares to lift his head, Zayn is staring at him with wide eyes. “No shit,” he wonders aloud.

Niall shrugs and looks away again.

“So you’re like, basically a genius then,” Zayn deduces. The heat rises to Niall’s cheeks but he says nothing as he inspects his feet, toeing at one rubber sneaker sole with the other. There just isn’t a whole lot to say on the matter- Niall got in, but he probably won’t be going. There. Settled. Easy.

“My parents want me to do Pre-Med at UCSD,” Zayn says suddenly. Startled, Niall lifts his head. “My dad is a surgeon, right? And my mom did biomedical engineering. Now she works for this big company out in Pasadena, developing prosthetic limbs for injured veterans.”

A far-away look appears on Zayn’s face as he stares off into nothing, his eyes settling somewhere near the palm trees lining the opposite end of the football field. “Doniya- my older sister- she graduates from Berkeley next year. Chemistry major,” he continues. “And then there’s me. I mean, I play _soccer_ , and I’m not even that good. I just barely passed trigonometry last year. I’m scraping by in AP Bio right now, and they want me to be a doctor?” Zayn shakes his head, a wry little smile appearing on his face. “You know I got into the Art Institute of Chicago? And they didn’t even know I was applying. Mrs. Castor helped me put my whole portfolio together.”

Niall sits there, stunned. Zayn’s words are still hovering in the air between them, and he’s just trying to take them all in, from the confession about his parents to the fact that he’s been accepted to one of the most prestigious art schools in the entire _country_. Niall didn’t even know Zayn was into art. “Zayn, that’s-” _Amazing? Awful?_ Niall doesn’t even know how to finish that statement.

Thankfully, Zayn cuts him off before he can. “Sorry.” His mouth twists into a tight frown, and the conflicting emotions are evident as they flick across his features. “I just don’t want to disappoint them, you know?”

And that’s something Niall can relate to all too well. A lump starts to form in his throat. All he can do is nod, every word in the English language dying abruptly somewhere on the back of his tongue.

It’s like Zayn starts to come back to himself, then: he visibly shakes himself, rubbing his palms over the tops of his thighs and blinking against the afternoon light. A moment later, he huffs out a laugh, and it’s nothing like the amused one from earlier. “Wow. What a way to brighten your Wednesday afternoon, huh? Next time, tell me to be quiet. I won’t take it personally.”

“It’s okay,” Niall says softly. “Really.”

It feels like it’s been ages since they last made eye contact, so when Zayn glances his way at last, it’s a kick in the stomach. His gaze seems endless, dark and assessing, like- like Niall could get lost in it if he’s not careful. He gulps and tears his own eyes away.

“Oh, hey- I think Liam’s up.”

Grateful for the distraction, he nods down at the track, just as the gun pops and the runners burst forth in a flurry of motion. Niall is pleasantly surprised to discover that Liam is fast- he and their opponent’s leading runner stay neck and neck for practically the entire race up until the last few seconds, when Liam lengthens his strides and pushes himself over the finish line mere inches ahead.

“Sick,” Zayn mutters under his breath.

“Yeah.” Niall nods his head in agreement. “He’s fast.”

“I know.” Zayn turns towards him. “Should we go say hi?”

“Um.” That hadn’t exactly been on Niall’s agenda, but Zayn is looking at him with one eyebrow raised like he knows and- okay, it is the right thing to do. “Sure.”

They clomp down the bleachers to the track and walk the perimeter until they find Liam, who is flopped out on the grass with a massive Nalgene bottle open next to him. Beside him, another boy is saying something about the latest Dodgers game, but he stops when he notices Niall and Zayn approaching and swats Liam on the chest.

“What?” Liam mumbles grumpily. He peeks out from beneath his eyelids, then immediately sits up when he sees they have company and jumps to his feet, his exhaustion disappearing in a blink. “You came!” he says around a grin.

“Er, yeah.” Niall rubs a hand over the back of his neck, all too aware of Zayn hovering at his side. “Um, this is-”

“Zayn.” He’s interrupted when Zayn extends a hand, mouth set in a polite smile. Niall peers up at him, then flicks his eyes towards Liam, who stares for a moment before accepting the handshake.

“I’m Liam.” Their hands separate, and he’s back to smiling when he says, “Thanks for coming.”

“Niall invited me. I hope that’s okay.” Zayn flicks his thumb in Niall’s direction.

At that, Liam’s features seem to soften in understanding. “Sure. Sorry if it was horribly boring- I know track isn’t as exciting as football or basketball.”

“Nah, it was cool. Right, Niall?”

Niall blinks. “Oh. Yeah- you’re a good runner.” Liam shrugs bashfully at the comment. “Seriously. I didn’t know you were that fast.”

“Well...years of improvement, I guess.” Liam lifts his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “Are you guys heading out soon?”

“I have to go pick up my sisters,” says Zayn, an apology in his voice. “Not sure about Niall though.”

When Liam turns toward him, Niall just offers his own shrug. “I mean- I should probably go get started on homework.”

“No problem. I only have one more event anyway,” Liam says. To Zayn, he adds, “it was nice meeting you.”

“You, too.” They exchange a quick smile, and then Zayn is nodding across the field and speaking to Niall. “Walk you to the bike racks?”

Niall can sense the pointed look Liam’s shooting in his direction, but he purposefully chooses to ignore it. He mutters a goodbye and follows Zayn back up the hill towards the gym, keeping quiet as they walk side by side over the grass.

Once they’ve rolled to a halt near the bikes, Zayn says, “that was fun. Thanks for asking me to come.”

“It was just a track meet,” Niall mumbles.

When he looks up, Zayn’s smiling knowingly, tongue in his cheek. “Right,” he drawls. “Anyways, I was gonna ask, like- do you wanna exchange cell numbers? Since we’re friends now and all.”

He looks hopeful but also a bit nervous as he asks the question, hands shoved into his pockets while he rocks back and forth on his feet. The image of his dad’s pathetic little flip phone pops into Niall’s head, and he sighs. “I don’t have a cell phone,” he admits.

“Oh.” The disappointment that washes over Zayn’s features is impossible to miss, and Niall scrambles to correct himself.

“But we have a landline, if you want that?” he blurts. “I mean- there’s not much reason for you to be calling me, but-”

“Niall. I asked for your number, didn’t I?” The disappointment is gone and has been replaced by amusement, Zayn’s eyes twinkling. “Here, add yourself as a contact in my phone.”

He hands over his cell, and Niall tries his best to keep his hands steady as he punches in their home number and hits ‘save.’ Then he passes the device back to Zayn, who fiddles with it for a moment before suddenly holding it up in Niall’s direction. The click of a camera shutter sounds, and Niall’s mouth drops open.

“Seriously?” he demands.

Zayn’s smiling to himself, unbelievably pleased as he no doubt sets the photo as Niall’s picture in his contacts. “Don’t worry, it’s not that unflattering of a shot,” he promises.

“I can’t believe you.”

“What, you wanna take a selfie and add it yourself?”

Niall shuts up quickly at that, rolling his bottom lip into his mouth and shaking his head.

“I figured.” Zayn pockets his phone and tosses Niall his signature grin. “Thanks again for today.”

“Sure.” The other boy is already half turned away when Niall calls out, “Zayn?”

It draws Zayn back around, his brows lifting. “Yeah?”

Niall takes a deep breath. “For the record, I think you should do what makes you happy.” He pauses. “Your parents will come around.”

For a long moment, Zayn just looks at him, an indecipherable expression settling on his face. Then, in a voice so hushed Niall can barely make out the word, he utters a quiet, “thanks.”

*

The weather only gets warmer the following day, so Zayn convinces Niall that they should eat lunch outside.

“C’mon,” he wheedles, leaning against the locker beside Niall’s as he waits for the boy to put away his books. “It’s literally eighty degrees. I can’t stay cooped up in the cafeteria anymore.”

Niall thinks about his own pasty skin and the inevitable pinkness that will settle across his cheeks if he stays outside for too long. It’s a terrible idea and he knows it, but Zayn’s about .01 seconds away from getting down on his knees to beg. “Fine,” Niall grumbles.

They find a tree outside the art building that provides decent shade and settle themselves beneath it. Zayn immediately sprawls out in the grass, arranging his backpack beneath him as a headrest while Niall leans against the trunk of the tree and folds his legs up in front of him. He then sets his lunch bag on the ground next to him and shuts his eyes.

“What’s your favorite movie?”

The question doesn’t even come as a surprise. Zayn’s kept up this little game of theirs all morning, asking random things whenever they seem to strike his fancy. During break they were mostly about music- _favorite genre? favorite band? What do you mean, you don’t know who Kendrick Lamar is?_

Now, Niall cracks his eyes open and answers, “ _Dead Poets Society_.”

“Favorite color?”

“Um...don’t have one.”

“How can you not have a favorite color?” Zayn looks positively scandalized as he shakes his head. “Okay. Here’s an easy one: favorite book.”

Niall licks his lips. “ _The Road_ ,” he says decisively.

“Really?” A look of shock flashes across Zayn’s face. “That’s...dark.”

“Yeah, but- it’s real, you know?” Niall shrugs. “Father and son, left with no one to lean on but each other while the rest of their world crumbles around them.” _I get it_ , he doesn’t add.

“Huh.” Zayn squints at him, thoughtful. “Alright, that’s fair.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence. Niall takes the opportunity to unwrap his sandwich, and he eats while Zayn merely lies still for a few minutes, the only sounds coming from the nearby road and the occasional burst of laughter from the few people scattered around campus nearby. It’s nice. Niall closes his eyes again as he chews, and he’s nearly dozed off when the sound of approaching footsteps causes him to jolt back into full awareness.

“Zayn.” It’s a girl’s voice that says it. Niall follows the sound to find one of Zayn’s friends- Perrie, the one from lunch that very first week- standing above them, her arms crossed over her chest and one eyebrow arched. Her eyes are an even sharper blue up close, a shade that reminds Niall of- of standing atop ice as it cracks and then sinking down, down, down into cold water that seeps into every corner of his being. He only glances briefly at her before dropping his eyes to his knees.

“Pezza, hey.” There’s a rustling as Zayn sits up and brushes the grass off his sides. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. You’ve just been kind of MIA lately.” Niall peeks up in time to catch the way her gaze flicks pointedly towards him as she speaks, and his stomach twists. “Are you coming to Jade’s on Saturday?”

“Wasn’t really planning on it.” Zayn keeps his tone casual, but Niall can sense some kind of tension in the way his back suddenly straightens and his eyes narrow as they assess Perrie’s face. “Maybe next time.”

“Suit yourself.” It’s like a switch flicks then, and she turns to acknowledge Niall, who’s busy attempting to make himself one with the tree trunk and as unnoticeable as possible. “Sorry, I’m being rude. I’m Perrie.”

“Um.” Niall stares at a spot somewhere near her shins. “I’m Niall.”

“You’re Zayn’s little protégé,” she amends. Her eyes seem to size Niall up for a moment, tracking from his dirty sneakers up to his white _California Republic_ t-shirt. The attention makes his face grow hot.

“Pez.” There’s a warning in Zayn’s voice, and Niall only has a split second to wonder exactly _what_ kind of a relationship he’s been thrust in the middle of before Perrie’s taking a step back.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” she placates. To Niall, she smiles and says, “it was nice to meet you.” The words are syrupy sweet with two perfect rows of white teeth to match.

It’s a struggle for Niall to force his lips up and smile back, but somehow, he manages. His head hurts just from trying to make sense of her presence. “You too.”

As soon as she’s gone, Zayn starfishes onto his back and groans. “I’m really sorry about her,” he apologizes, throwing an arm over his face. “She’s just pissed that I’ve been avoiding them lately-”

“Your friends, you mean?” Niall breaks in. “You don’t have to, like...ignore them for me, you know.”

Zayn tips his head in Niall’s direction until the grass is tickling his cheek. “I’m not ‘ignoring’ anyone.” He makes air quotes around the words with his fingers, his eyebrows furrowing. “I’m allowed to have more than one group of friends, that’s not a crime.”

He sounds annoyed, and Niall frowns to himself. “I just mean, like- I don’t want you to lose your other friends because of me.” His voice comes out quieter than he’s intended. “You don’t have to keep hanging out with me...”

“I pestered you for days just to get you to talk to me,” Zayn exclaims, his voice colored with disbelief. “You really think I’m gonna ditch you now?”

Niall bites his lip, the silence serving as his answer. “...dunno,” he mumbles eventually. _I still don’t know what brought you here in the first place,_ he wants to say, but the words stay wrapped up in the back of his throat.

The bell rings, and Zayn’s still staring at him. Niall coughs under the scrutiny and begins to gather up the remnants of his lunch.

“Niall.” Niall doesn’t even pause. “Niall, hey, man, look at me.” This brings him to a stop, and he cautiously glances Zayn’s way. When Zayn speaks again, it’s slow and pointed. “I’m not going to ditch you. Alright?”

Something about the words causes them to settle heavily in Niall’s chest. He’s not sure if it’s the resolve that shines out from Zayn’s eyes or the firmness of his tone, but right then, Niall actually finds himself listening. In fact- he almost even believes the words. _Almost._

*

In physics, they’re in the middle of working on more AP problems when Liam surprises Niall and says, “Zayn’s nice.”

It’s his stamp of approval, and although Niall hadn’t necessarily been asking for one, he still smiles to himself before he goes back to sketching out the trajectory of a thrown softball.

*

On Friday, Niall is halfway through his PB&J when he starts to wonder why Zayn hasn’t appeared yet. Usually he makes it to the lunch table before Niall’s even done depositing his books into his locker after calculus, but today, it’s been a solid fifteen minutes of just Niall and his sandwich. Niall knows he shouldn’t worry. He definitely shouldn’t, but Zayn had been absent for all of break this morning as well and it’s...a little disconcerting. That’s all.

He carefully sets the remainder of his sandwich down on the table, wishing he’d brought a book or _something_ to occupy his time. Instead, he’s left to pick at the crusts of his white bread, the little brown flecks getting stuck to his fingertips and causing him to wipe them off on the edge of the table. He stares down at the remnants with a small frown.

Where the hell is Zayn?

Somewhere nearby, a table full of students bursts into sudden laughter. Niall draws his shoulders in tightly and hunches forward, keeping his eyes on his rapidly deteriorating sandwich. He’s not too hungry anymore. In fact, he feels a bit sick to his stomach, and he furrows his eyebrows as he wraps a protective arm around his middle. He doesn’t usually get self-conscious, but right now, it’s like the entire population of Dana Hills is well aware of the fact that he’s _alone_ with no book- and no Zayn- to protect him.

(Logically, he knows better- hardly anyone in this cafeteria even knows his _name_ \- but the ache in his chest and the tickling sensation at the back of his neck are telling him otherwise).

It’s when he notices other students starting to rise from their seats and return their lunch trays that Niall thinks maybe, possibly, Zayn hasn’t been planning on showing up for lunch at all. The start of English can’t be too far away- it seems like Niall has been sitting here for an eternity, after all- and Zayn would have said something if he was going to be late. Though he wouldn’t just...abandon Niall. Right?

 _I’m not going to ditch you._ Niall thinks back to their conversation yesterday, frowning to himself as he wraps up his half-eaten sandwich.

This sure feels like he’s been ditched.

Which, okay, fine- so Zayn suddenly doesn’t want to hang out with him. No big deal. Niall survived seventeen-plus years without Zayn’s company, what’s a few weeks more?

His throat tightens. _You’re fine,_ he tells himself. _You don’t need him._

The way his heart is steadily descending towards his stomach, however, seems to be telling him otherwise.

He’s about ready to give up and sulk off to his locker until class starts when someone- quite literally- collides with his table. Their belongings spill across the metal surface and land in front of Niall with a resounding thump.

“I’m so sorry,” Zayn exclaims as he falls into his usual seat. He sounds like he’s just run a marathon, frazzled and out of breath. “I was in the counselor’s office at break and then Mrs. Castor wanted to talk to me after class just now. I kept trying to sneak out but she’s so _nice_ , and she’s helped me out so much, like, I couldn’t just leave-” Zayn pauses and gulps in a mouthful of air. “You probably thought I ditched you. Right after I promised I wouldn’t, too.” A frustrated groan falls from his lips, and he drops his head into his arms. “I’m so sorry. A million times sorry. I swear, I had a story I wanted to tell you about Safaa’s guinea pig and everything.”

He’s still panting by the time he’s finished, chest rising and falling at a ridiculous pace. All Niall can do is open and close his mouth, too shocked to respond.

“Are you upset?” The worry grows in Zayn’s eyes when Niall doesn’t say anything, and he leans forward, his face falling even more. “I know I fucked up, but I would never just- leave you like that without telling you.”

Eventually, Niall finds it within himself to nod. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, his shoulders slumping. “Tell me about the guinea pig?”

He should probably be more alarmed by how quickly all of his previous anxiety has disappeared from his body, but he’s too focused on the way something flickers back to life in Zayn’s eyes when he starts to speak.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Come Saturday morning, Niall is watching an old re-run of _F.R.I.E.N.D.S_ in his pajamas when the phone starts to ring. He hears his dad shuffling about in the kitchen and decides that he probably has the situation under control, returning his attention to the television as he spoons another bite of Cheerios into his mouth.

“Niall?” Bobby appears in the doorway, one hand wrapped around the phone’s speaker in order to hide his words from it. The expression on his face is pleasantly surprised when he says, “it’s for you.”

Niall rips his eyes away from the TV in shock. A bit of milk dribbles down his chin in the process, and he scrubs it away with the side of his hand as he swallows the bite of cereal that’s gotten stuck halfway down his throat. “What?”

“He says his name is Zayn?” Bobby raises an eyebrow and holds out the phone in invitation.

Niall stares at the device like it might lash out and bite him. “Oh,” he murmurs. “Um.”

His dad wiggles the phone pointedly as if to say, _I don’t have all day._ Niall finally manages to get his act together and stumbles to his feet, muttering a quiet “thanks” as he grips the phone in one sweaty palm and raises it to his ear.

“Hello?”

His bowl of Cheerios rests forgotten on the living room floor as Niall disappears into his bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

“I think your dad thought I was a prank caller at first,” Zayn greets.

“We, uh, don’t get actual phone calls often.” Niall drops onto the edge of his bed and switches the phone to his opposite ear so that he can wipe his clammy palm off against his thigh. “On the rare occasion that we do, they’re definitely not for me.”

“Well then, surprise!” Niall can picture the way Zayn is probably wiggling his fingers enthusiastically on the other end of the line, and it makes him snort. “What are you doing today?”

When Niall glances down at his pajama pants, the blue-and-green plaid seems mocking as it stares back at him. “...not much,” he mumbles. “Why?”

“We’re going to hang out.” It doesn’t sound like Niall has much choice in the matter. “I still have to make up for yesterday, don’t I? I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

That should be enough time to get his life together and have a proper freak out over Zayn actually seeing his shack of a house in broad daylight, Niall figures. “Alright,” he agrees carefully. He rattles off his address and tries to crush the panic that’s rapidly rising in his chest as he hangs up, tossing his phone onto his pillow and rubbing his hands over his face.

He gives himself a full sixty seconds, then stands up and starts to peel off his t-shirt. The shower awaits.

*

“So who was that on the phone?”

Niall freezes in the kitchen doorway. Bobby glances up from where he’s reading the newspaper, his glasses resting low on his nose. There’s a mug of coffee resting on the table in front of him. “Uh, that was Zayn.”

The newspaper crinkles when his dad folds it shut. “Zayn?”

“Yeah...he’s a friend.” Niall says hesitantly. The statement tastes foreign on his tongue. “I’m gonna hang out with him for awhile today. Is that okay?”

Bobby scratches absently at the scruff on his jaw, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say anything else for a moment, and the quiet goes on for so long that Niall almost starts to twiddle his thumbs. Just when his stomach hits the halfway point up to his throat, his dad says, “home by midnight, yeah?”

He opens up the newspaper again, effectively ending the conversation.

Niall blinks, but his dad is seemingly engrossed in whatever article he’s reading, leaving no room for further questions. With a confused shake of his head, Niall wanders back out into the living room and peeks out the front window. There’s still no sign of Zayn’s familiar blue truck, so Niall is left to pinch the front of his striped t-shirt and frown down at it while he waits. Are stripes too much? Since when does he ever worry whether _anything_ he wears is too much?

It’s official. He’s losing his mind.

Thankfully, Zayn pulls up to the curb a few minutes later, and Niall is up and on the move before the other boy has even climbed all the way out of his truck. “Bye, dad!” he calls, and he waits for Bobby’s grunt in reply before shutting the front door behind him.

He looks out at the sidewalk where Zayn is dangling halfway out of the truck, one leg on the pavement and the other still tucked into the cab. When he catches sight of Niall, he smiles. “Hey.”

Zayn climbs out of his seat the rest of the way, resting one hand over the top of the car door while he waits for Niall to reach him. When they’re finally stood in front of one another, Niall wets his tongue across his lips and replies, “hi.”

“I like the stripes.”

“Thanks.” The back of Niall’s neck goes hot, and he smooths down the front of his shirt to steady himself. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Food first,” Zayn says. “I skipped breakfast so I’m starving.”

Niall shoves his hands into his pockets and feels around until his fingers brush the worn leather of his wallet. There might be a five dollar bill in there, if he’s lucky. “...okay,” he mumbles. He can always just claim he’s not hungry, if need be.

They hop into the cab and Zayn turns the key in the ignition. Music immediately bursts out of the speakers, something with a heavy bass and a lot of synthesizer, and Niall swears he sees Zayn’s face turn a bit red as he darts out a hand and twists the volume knob. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s cool.” Niall buckles his seatbelt across his lap. As an afterthought, he asks, “What were you listening to?”

Zayn flicks on his blinker as he pulls out of Niall’s neighborhood and onto the main road, his eyes sliding briefly across the bench seat before they re-focus on the traffic in front of him. “I’m not really sure?” he replies. “Harry burns me CD’s a lot, and his taste in music is pretty...eclectic.”

Something about the pulsing beat seems to make Niall brave. “How long have you guys been friends?”

“We’ve been playing soccer together since we were like...ten.” There’s a soft look on Zayn’s face, but it disappears a moment later when he raises his eyebrows. “You’re talkative today,” he comments, the epitome of casual.

“What, so you can ask me every question under the sun but I can’t interrogate you?”

A small smile tugs at the corners of Zayn’s lips. “Not what I meant.”

The truck falls silent after that as the music switches into something more folk sounding, with guitars and fiddles and lilting vocals. Niall settles back into his seat, the muscles around his mouth twitching upwards of their own accord.

*

Less than ten minutes later, they’re passing beneath an all-too-familiar sign, the sunlight creating a sharp glare where it bounces off the yellow surface. Niall peers out the window at the palm-tree lined red awnings that shade the restaurant’s windows and shakes his head.

“Predictable.”

“Shut up.” Zayn parks the truck and climbs out of the cab, Niall following his lead a few seconds later. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with In-n-Out.”

Niall can’t even remember the last time he was here- it has to have been years ago. The scent of fried potatoes and oil assaults them as soon as they step through the glass doors, and Niall glances around, a bit overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people and noise that consumes the small space. “Insane,” he mutters under his breath.

They take their place at the back of the line (which must be at least a mile long, jesus) and Zayn leans in a bit and says, “you look like you just walked into the middle of a bank robbery.”

“...haven’t been here in awhile, that’s all.” Niall drags his eyes away from the hordes of people waiting for their food and glances at Zayn. “Kind of forgot what it’s like.”

“I know a lot of people think it’s overrated, but I still like to come here every couple of weeks. It’s like...tradition.”

Niall shrugs because he doesn’t know, not really. “I don’t eat out a lot,” he says.

“PB&J sandwiches don’t make a balanced diet, you know.”

“I have the occasional apple.”

Zayn laughs, and it makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

The cashier yells out a _next!_ , and suddenly they’re stepping up to the counter to the order. “Can I get a number two with a chocolate milkshake?” Zayn nods when he’s asked if he’d like onions on his burger, then looks over his shoulder Niall. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I’m- I’m not really hungry.” Niall tries to take a step off to the side, but Zayn’s eyeroll draws him to an instant halt.

“Bullshit. Get something to eat, I’m buying.”

Niall swallows past the sudden dryness in his throat and glances at the cashier, who’s starting to look annoyed at the amount of time it’s taking them to order. “Uh...just a strawberry milkshake. Please.”

A moment later, Zayn hands over a twenty and accepts their receipt before motioning toward an empty portion of the bench by the soda fountain. They sit down side by side to wait for their food, and Niall allows a minute to pass before he says quietly, “you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Yes, I did.” They’re sitting so close that Zayn barely has to shift in order to knock their knees together. With a jolt, Niall realizes that it’s the first time Zayn’s instigated physical contact, aside from when he drove Niall home in the rain just over a week ago. “I’m making up for yesterday, remember?”

It takes about ten minutes for their number to be called. Once their food is done, Zayn picks up the red tray and both milkshakes ( _let me help you_ , Niall insists, but Zayn repeatedly shakes his head) and leads them to the tables outside. They settle themselves under a red umbrella and Zayn immediately digs into his food, dumping his carton of french fries into their tray and pushing it into the middle of the table so that Niall can reach.

“I’m not-”

“Niall,” Zayn says, his tone exasperated. “I’m offering. Just take some.”

Niall cups both hands around his milkshake and doesn’t take the bait, not even when Zayn rolls his eyes at him and takes a bite of his burger. Instead, he pops the lid off his cup and stirs the shake around with his straw, waiting for it to melt a bit so that the consistency allows him to actually drink some.

“I can’t believe you got strawberry,” Zayn pipes up a moment later, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. “Who even likes strawberry milkshakes?”

“I do.” Niall picks up his straw and sucks a bit of ice cream off the end. “Problem?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Zayn says emphatically. “It’s _strawberry._ ”

Niall snorts and sticks his straw back into his drink, watching as Zayn picks up a handful of fries and pops them into his mouth. “You don’t approve of my daily lunch choice, you don’t approve of my milkshake flavor...you’re tough to please, aren’t you?”

“Not really.” Zayn picks up another french fry and this time, before Niall can react, he reaches across the table and dips it into his milkshake.

“You have your own-” Niall tries to protest, but the disgusted look on Zayn’s face causes him to stop and laugh before he can finish the statement.

“God, that’s awful.” Zayn reaches for his own shake and takes a long sip, his lips still puckered. Shaking his head, Niall ducks his head and drinks from his own cup in order to hide his grin.

“That’s what you get for stealing.”

“Sharing is caring,” Zayn shoots back, but he’s back to smiling when he says it.

*

The afternoon speeds by in a blur of random shops and conversation, mostly on Zayn’s part. They leave the truck parked by the harbor and simply wander around town for a few hours, and Zayn tells Niall about everything from Walihya’s last birthday party to the first time he and Harry ever got drunk (they were fifteen, and Harry had smuggled a bottle of _something_ from his parent’s liquor cabinet, which they’d passed back and forth between them as they sat huddled together on the floor inside Harry’s closet).

It’s easy to lose track of time as one story blurs into another, and before either of them knows it, five o’clock is around the corner and Zayn’s phone is buzzing to life in his pocket.

Zayn cuts himself off in the middle of a sentence and pulls out the device, scowling down at it half-heartedly before he shoots Niall a _what can you do?_ look and answers the call. “Hi, mom.”

A laugh filters out of Niall’s throat before he can stop it. He shrugs bashfully when Zayn sends a sharp look in his direction.

“I’m hanging out with a friend. Do you need me home soon?” It’s hard to make out whatever Zayn’s mom is saying on the other end of the line, so Niall just scuffs his toe across the ground and waits. “...I already told you. Niall. From school.” At the sound of his name, Niall’s face heats. “... _mom_. He probably doesn’t even-” The voice raises, and Zayn visibly winces. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll ask.” Zayn presses the phone against his shoulder and turns to Niall, whose expression has morphed into a mixture of confusion and apprehension. “So, you’ve been cordially invited to dinner at the Malik household.”

“What?” Niall’s stomach twists. “Zayn- that’s...” _too much,_ he wants to say. _I can’t do it. I can’t I can’t I can’t-_

“My mom insists.” There’s an apology in his eyes, like he knows exactly how much Niall is freaking out right now. “I know it’s a lot. You don’t have to, okay? You really don’t. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, and my family can be...well.”

A lump has risen in Niall’s throat, and he tries to swallow past it to no avail. Zayn is looking at him with wide eyes, the phone still muffled against his shirt, and it’s like this: yes, Niall is caught off guard. Yes, he’s so nervous it’s like something is clawing out the inside of his stomach, but-

He can’t let Zayn down. Not after all of the time and energy Zayn’s wasted on him.

“Niall?” There’s a question in Zayn’s gaze, but a moment later, his panicked expression softens. “I’ll tell her that we’ll do it some other time, it’s no big deal-”

“No.” The word slips out before Niall can second guess himself. “I’ll- I’ll come. It’d be rude not to, yeah?”

As soon as he’s said it, he gulps in a deep breath and seals his mouth shut. The burn in his cheeks intensifies tenfold when he notices the way Zayn’s staring at him, all narrowed eyes and furrowed brows like he can’t quite believe it, but Niall doesn’t correct himself. Instead, he forces himself to straighten up to his full height and roll his shoulders back. _You heard me,_ he thinks.

Their stare down continues for another long minute. Niall doesn’t waver, and eventually, Zayn’s expression shifts until he seems...awed? Maybe even proud? Something in Niall’s chest goes a bit fuzzy, and he has to look away at last.

“We’ll be home in twenty minutes. No, he’s not a vegetarian.” There’s more babbling from the other end of the line, but there’s a bemused smile curling across Zayn’s lips now when Niall peeks up from his shoes. Reflexively, he smiles back, just as Zayn mumbles a goodbye to his mom and hangs up, a long breath draining from him as he does so.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he says as he pockets his phone. “My mom cooks enough to feed a small army whenever we have company.”

“It sounds great.”

Zayn’s looking at him again with that same expression- one of pleasant surprise, like Niall is different than he’d expected. Like he’s...something special.

“We should head out,” he says softly, and Niall just nods.

*

The tract where Zayn’s house is located is definitely newer, much like he’d described that day beside the bike racks. It’s way up off of Del Obispo in a neighborhood full of swimming pools and perfectly manicured lawns, and Niall already feels out of place as they drive through it. He looks away from the window and down into his lap at the quarter-sized hole in the fabric of his cargo shorts and sighs under his breath.

“Hey.” Zayn must have heard the noise, because when Niall’s eyes flit across the truck cab, he finds nothing but concern in the wrinkling of Zayn’s forehead. “It’s not too late to back out. Just say the word and I’ll drive you home.”

“No, it’s fine,” Niall says instantly. He tugs his bottom lip in between his teeth, then adds, “I’m just...nervous, you know?” _I’ve never met someone’s parents like this before._ The anxiety swims around in his stomach. _I’m not sure how to do this._

His musings come to an abrupt halt when Zayn pulls into the driveway of a large Spanish-style home and cuts the truck’s engine. The house isn’t enormous, but it’s definitely at least four times the size of anything Niall’s family has ever owned, and the sight of it makes his eyes widen slightly. A black BMW sits on the left side of the driveway, and there’s an actual fountain next to the path that leads to the front door. A _fountain._ The yard is landscaped by a mixture of grass and rocky dry scape, various flowers and small bushes adorning the planters that lie at the base of the front walls of the house. ( _They probably hire a gardner,_ Niall realizes. His own dad hasn’t touched a plant since- well. That’s not important.)

“We’re here!” Zayn’s voice echoes through the front room as they step inside, only to be met by rich hardwood floors and a staircase that winds up to the second floor. There’s a dining room to the left and a living room to the right, and straight past the stairs lies a hallway that leads back to what Niall assumes to be the kitchen and probably a den.

A moment later, a small figure emerges from the hallway clad in a black leotard, white tights, and a tightly coiled hair bun. Her features are dark and sharp, much like Zayn’s own even though she must be a few years younger.

“Is this him?”

Her voice is excitedly curious as she floats closer to them, skimming her gaze over Niall from the striped shirt up to the windswept mess of his hair. Vaguely, Niall wonders if she can see the hole in his shorts, or maybe the way his brown roots are starting to peek out at his scalp from beneath bottle-dyed blonde.

“Niall, this is Walihya,” says Zayn, bypassing his sister’s query altogether and rolling his eyes. “She hasn’t learned that it’s rude to stare yet, so try to just ignore her.”

Walihya huffs. “I only wanted to meet the new friend you’ve been spending all your time with.”

She glances at Niall and offers him a smile, and Niall can’t help but notice that her teeth are a bit crooked. He runs his tongue over his own braces and sends a tentative smile back. Beside him, Zayn’s gone a bit fidgety, his fingers rubbing over the hair at the back of his neck.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, but there’s no heat in the words. “Is mom cooking already?”

“Yeah. She’s showing Saf how to grate cheese.” Walihya spins on her toes and flits back down the hallway, leaving Zayn and Niall with no choice but to follow suit.

The closer they get to the kitchen, the stronger the smells become. Niall is hit by a combination of meat and spices, and it reminds him of the curry Zayn had shared with him that one day, rich and thick and delicious. There’s a woman standing over the stove while a much smaller girl sits at the kitchen table, trying to grate cheese into a plastic bowl and ending up with most of it sprinkled across the table instead. She’s only a couple of years younger than Waliyha, it seems, her sleek black hair tucked into a ponytail and her cheeks still ruddy and round with youth.

“Saf,” Zayn complains. There’s exasperation in his voice but also fondness, and he doesn’t even look upset as he comes up beside her and brushes some of the extra cheese off the edge of the table and into his palm. “Hold the bowl at the same time, okay?”

“I’m _trying_ ,” Safaa whines. “It’s hard, Zee.”

“Go slower,” he suggests, and Safaa does as he says, her strokes slowing and evening out. It keeps the grater from jolting around, and more of the cheese ends up in the bowl this time. “There you go.”

Niall watches the exchange from the doorway, his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides and his mouth shut. Walihya has bounded over to her mother’s side to peer down at whatever she’s cooking, and with Zayn occupied by Safaa, Niall doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He hovers for a moment before taking a step forward into the kitchen, and the movement appears to startle Zayn into motion, a sheepish smile crossing his face.

“Sorry, sorry. Saf, this is Niall. Say hi?”

Safaa glances up from her task only briefly, tongue poking out from her mouth in concentration. “Hi,” she obliges. Then she’s back to grating, a determined glint in her eye that makes Niall think of Zayn’s own perseverance during those first few days, back when Niall was still being ridiculously stubborn.

“You’re really good at that,” says Niall, gesturing toward the bowl of cheese with one hand. The statement causes Safaa to pause long enough to look up and properly assess him, most likely to see if the words are genuine. After a few seconds she seems to accept the compliment, a pleased little smile appearing on her face.

“Thank you,” she answers shyly.

“You’re welcome.” Niall smiles back at her, and he can feel the weight of Zayn’s gaze on the side of his face. It only adds to the nerves that are already bundled up in his chest, and he’s grateful when Zayn finally turns away to greet his mother.

“Hi, mom.”

“Oh, so now I get an introduction?” Her tone is teasing as she passes Walihya the wooden spoon in her hand and then crosses the kitchen, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s cheek. “For a minute there I thought you might have been too embarrassed of me.”

“Mom.”

“I know, I know.” She turns to Niall. “You must be Niall, then?”

“Um-” The butterflies are buzzing madly around in his stomach. Niall licks his lips and tries to ignore them. “Yeah, I’m Niall. Thank you so much for having me.”

“Of course!” Zayn’s mom waves the statement off, and her smile is kind when she steps forward and grasps Niall’s upper arms gently. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Trisha, and I see you’ve met the girls already.” Walihya shoots him a pointed little wave from beside the stove, but Niall’s too startled to wave back. “I hope you like tacos. They’re chicken, is that alright?”

Her palms are soft against Niall’s skin, and she smells like the food she’s been cooking, but also like fabric softener and a hint of perfume at the same time. The way she asks the question- like she’s genuinely worried over Niall’s preferences- is so motherly that Niall suddenly finds himself blinking as his eyes begin to sting. He swallows once, twice, a lump growing in his throat that he tries to clear away as best he can.

“Chicken sounds great.” He manages a faint smile.

“Wonderful. They should be done pretty soon, if you boys want to help set the table?” The last part is directed at Zayn, who nods and heads for a cabinet by the sink to collect the plates.

“Where’s dad?” Zayn asks, passing the dishes to Niall before moving to gather the silverware.

“He was golfing with some work colleagues today. I think they decided to stay after and eat at the club.”

Zayn doesn’t reply to that, but when Niall glances over, he catches the other boy frowning to himself. He doesn’t know what that means, but he does know that Zayn’s relationship with his parents is far from flawless, so he just adds the incident to the ‘family troubles’ category of Zayn knowledge in his brain and brushes it aside for now.

Fifteen minutes later, the five of them are gathered around the kitchen table and munching away in a comfortable silence. Niall can’t remember the last time he ever sat down for a real family dinner- he doesn’t consider sharing the table with his father on occasion to be much of a meal, especially not like this is. This has purpose. Zayn asks his sisters about their day as he loads chicken and rice and cheese onto a tortilla, and it’s all so domestic that it sparks a slow ache in Niall’s chest.

“So, Niall.” Trisha’s voice filters over from the opposite side of the table, causing Niall to lift his head. “You’re a senior as well?” Niall nods carefully. “Have you already figured out what you’ll be doing next year?”

The million dollar question. “I’d, uh, like to go to school. Still deciding on a place, though.”

Beside him, Zayn slowly sets down his taco and flits his eyes towards his mother, then over to Niall in silent question.

“Where are you looking?”

“State schools, mostly.”

Trisha nods thoughtfully, and Niall rolls his bottom lip into his mouth as the words settle somewhere near his feet. “What would you like to study?”

“...I’m thinking about English.”

“English,” Trisha echoes. She doesn’t look disapproving, which Niall takes to be a good sign.

“We’re actually in the same English class. That’s how we met,” Zayn interrupts. There’s a soft tap against Niall’s ankle, and when he chances a glimpse to his right, he finds Zayn smiling reassuringly at him. Another tap. Niall’s smile is easier to arrive on his face this time as he taps back.

The conversation diverts away from him then, and Niall takes the opportunity to focus on his food while the voices swell and mingle around him. By the time his plate is scraped clean, Trisha is already rising from the table and collecting the girls’ dishes, and Niall mutters a quiet “thank you” when she reaches to take his as well.

“Want us to help with the dishes?” Zayn asks.

“No, no, don’t worry about it. The girls can do it this time.” Both Waliyha and Safaa grumble at that, and Niall stifles his laugh in his palm. “You two are free to go.”

Zayn rises from the table and tips his head towards the doorway, motioning for Niall to follow. “C’mon, I’ll show you my room.”

Niall stands as well, but before he trails after Zayn, he turns back to Trisha and says, “thank you so much. It was delicious.”

“No need to thank me, sweetheart.” Her smile is so warm, so gracious, and when she reaches out to squeeze Niall’s hand gently, it makes the prickling sensation return to his eyes. He blinks and smiles back. “You’re welcome here anytime, okay?”

A sound escapes from his throat. He covers it by hiccuping out a little laugh and scrubbing one hand over his eyes, his cheeks burning. “Okay,” he chokes out, smiling at her one last time before stepping back and turning to exit the kitchen.

Zayn’s still there, waiting in the doorway with his arms folded over his chest and his shoulder propped against the door frame. When he catches Niall’s eyes, the corners of his mouth curve up faintly. The sight sends Niall’s stomach into a flurry. He clears his throat, a bit embarrassed at his own sensitivity, but Zayn just watches him for another long moment, the smile never leaving his face even as he spins around and leads the way upstairs.

*

The first thing that catches Niall’s attention as they step into Zayn’s room are the walls. They’re absolutely covered in paint: graffiti, indistinguishable shapes, little doodles- you name it, it’s there. His mouth drops open slightly as he takes it all in, stepping forward so that he can trace his fingertips over the face of a tiger that spans the chunk of wall beside the door.

“Wow,” he murmurs. He can feel Zayn somewhere beside him, hovering, and it’s all a bit overwhelming. “Zayn, this is- these are really good.”

“Thanks.” Zayn’s voice is rough, and when Niall looks back at him, his eyebrows are furrowed. “It’s...this is what I love, you know?”

“Yeah.” Niall swallows. He traces his eyes over the rest of the room: a double bed with rumpled plaid sheets, a small black bookshelf that’s positively overflowing with sketchbooks and novels, an easel holding up a half-painted canvas in the corner. There are pieces of Zayn in everything, and being here feels...intimate, almost, like Niall is standing in the middle of Zayn’s brain rather than the middle of his bedroom.

“I’m glad you came over,” Zayn says suddenly. He turns to face Niall, and his gaze is so intense that it creates a rushing sound in Niall’s ears. “Like, really glad.”

Niall wipes his clammy palms on the sides of his thighs. “Me, too,” he says quietly. “Your family is nice.”

Zayn shrugs and swipes one hand over the back of his neck. “Sorry about my dad. I don’t really- I mean, he probably didn’t know you were coming-”

“It’s fine,” Niall interrupts. He presses the flat of his tongue against his teeth, then adds, “next time, right?”

Zayn blinks, and his smile unfolds slowly, like a flower bud opening at the first signs of spring. “Next time,” he agrees readily. Then, “who are you, and what have you done with Niall?”

A startled laugh bursts forth from Niall’s chest, his face heating up when the sound catches him by surprise. He shrugs and looks away.

After a minute of silence, Zayn wanders over to where his laptop is resting on his bed. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress and fiddles with the device in his lap, and a moment later, music starts playing softly from the speakers. This time, it’s some kind of rap song with a slow tempo and a faint bass line, and Zayn nods along absently as he sets the laptop on the desk next to his bed.

“Who’s this?”

“G-Eazy,” Zayn answers. He remains seated on the side of the bed, feet tapping against the carpeted floor and hands folded loosely in his lap. “Can I ask you a sort-of-serious question?”

“Um.” Niall fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt as he lowers himself onto the mattress beside Zayn, his spine coiled with tension. “...sure.”

In the background, a girl’s voice sings like a prayer: _take me down, take me all the way down tonight._

Niall ducks his head and stares at where his hands are pressed flat against his knees.

“Why didn’t you tell my mom about UChicago?”

“It’s...” There’s a sharp pressure in Niall’s chest, and he lifts one palm to rub over his breastbone. “It’s complicated.”

“How so?” Niall frowns to himself, and Zayn’s voice softens. “I’m not trying to pry, I’m just- I’m trying to understand.”

The thing is- if Niall were to close himself off right now and tell Zayn to leave it be, he would, no questions asked. Even though his physical presence had been a bit of an invasion of Niall’s space at first, Zayn has never once pushed past Niall’s emotional or mental boundaries. If Niall’s ever clammed up at a subject, Zayn has skipped over it like it’s nothing, like he’s perfectly fine with letting Niall have his walls and his secrets.

The thing is- _the thing is_ \- Zayn is the first person who’s made a genuine effort to understand Niall in a long, long time. People stopped trying with Niall when he stopped trying with them, but now, it’s like Zayn has brought everything back to the surface. All of Niall’s thoughts, his fears, his secrets- they’re simmering right below his skin, poking and clawing at his walls like they’re suddenly desperate to escape.

 _The thing is-_ Niall does want someone to understand him, and he thinks he’s okay with that person being Zayn.

 _Break me down, break me all the way down before the night is over,_ pleads the voice that floats from the laptop. _Let’s get lost._

“You still there?” There’s a light nudge to his knee, and when he peers sideways, Zayn is _right there_. Smiling. Waiting. Patient in the way that only Zayn can be, no judgment and no pressure.

Niall breathes out to steady himself.

“I don’t talk about Chicago because it just...it reminds me that no matter how hard I work, no matter how smart I am or whatever, those things- they’ll always be just out of my reach.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Like, I got in, but ultimately, what does that mean? I can’t leave my dad, and I sure as hell can’t afford to pay that kind of money for school. He works two jobs that both pay minimum wage. We can’t even afford a cell phone bill, much less a private university. So...it’s just not even an option, not really.”

Money is always a harder concept to understand for people who actually have it- Niall knows that for a fact. He can sense the gears churning inside of Zayn’s head, and it’s like he can already hear the blind reasoning that’s coming: _that’s what scholarships are for! You can get loans! What about work study?_

As per usual, however, Zayn is full of surprises. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “That’s unfair, and I’m sorry.”

He sounds genuinely apologetic, as though he would just...up and change places with Niall if he could, and that’s- it’s too much.

 _Zayn_ is too much.

“It’s okay.” Niall shoots him a wry little smile and shrugs. “That’s life, right?”

“Yes, but-” A frustrated noise leaves Zayn’s mouth. He rotates until he’s facing Niall, bringing his knee further onto the bed and folding his leg until his foot is brushing the top of Niall’s calf. “You’re so smart. You’re so _good._ You could literally do anything, anything at all, and it sucks that the world might miss out on that because of something as stupid as overpriced college tuition.”

His words seep beneath Niall’s skin and nestle themselves in the deepest corner of his chest, warming him up from the inside out. _That’s what you think of me?_ he wants to ask, but he swallows the words back. It’s dizzying, this realization that more than one person- not just his dad, not just Ms. Paul- honestly believes he can succeed. That he’s worth something more than worn t-shirts and a rundown house and spitballs to the back of the neck during government class.

Instead of responding with a _thank you_ , or even another _oh well, some things are just out of your control,_ Niall forces himself to meet Zayn’s gaze. “I really think you should tell your parents about art school,” he says. “I might not have the resources to do what I really want, but you do. Take advantage of what you’ve been given, you know? Do what you love.”

Zayn looks at him. The fight has slowly melted from his features during Niall’s short speech, and it’s been replaced with something softer, calmer. He seems...reverent. There’s wonder tucked into his gaze, like he can’t quite wrap his head around the person sitting in front of him.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Be so selfless all the time.”

Niall shakes his head, the back of his neck tingling with heat. “I’m not selfless,” he mumbles. _That’s you._

A low sigh comes from Zayn, but he doesn’t say anything else. “C’mon,” he says quietly, climbing up to his feet. “I should take you home.”

The ride back across town is mostly silent, save for the gentle hum of the radio. It’s dark out, but the truck cab is still warm from the day’s sun, and Niall curls up on the bench seat with his head pressed against the window. Something has shifted between him and Zayn, but he can’t quite place what that is. It’s like the air between them is thicker, weighed down by something that wasn’t there before, and it clogs Niall’s throat when he breathes in.

All too soon, Zayn is pulling up in front of Niall’s house. He puts the truck into park and leaves the engine idling before hopping out of the cab, leaving a confused Niall scrambling out after him and up the front walk.

“I won’t get kidnapped on the thirty foot walk to the door, you know,” he says, but Zayn follows him onto the porch anyway and waits while Niall wrestles his keys from his pocket. He still doesn’t say anything, not even once Niall finally finds his keys and sticks them into the lock. A few seconds pass, but he doesn’t move to open the door. Instead, he turns towards Zayn, his back to the front door and his hands rubbing up and down his arms when a cool breeze ruffles past them.

“Thanks for asking me to hang out,” he eventually murmurs, once it seems like Zayn isn’t going to say anything. “It was fun.”

“Thanks for letting me drag you around all day,” Zayn replies finally. A faint smile tugs at Niall’s lips. “And...thanks for talking to me about- about the money stuff. I know that wasn’t easy.”

“I think I owed you that much.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Zayn’s eyes are dark and unreadable under the dim porch light, and Niall swallows as his smile fades and the inside of his mouth turns to sandpaper. “See you Monday?”

“Yeah.” The word sounds distant to Niall’s ears. “Monday.”

Zayn hovers for another five seconds, ten seconds, and then- then he’s gone, shooting Niall one last lingering look before he steps down off the porch and heads back to the truck. The engine is still rumbling faintly, and it emits a louder set of chugs once the cab door slams and Zayn puts it into gear before pulling away into the night.

Niall’s hands are trembling when he goes to open up the front door, and it takes a few tries before he’s able to turn the key and undo the lock. He keeps his footsteps careful as he steps inside, only to find the living room awash in the foggy blue glow of the television. The rest of the lights are off, and when Niall walks further inside and peers over the back of the couch, he finds his dad snoring noiselessly in the corner. His arm lies slack against the armrest, and he’s fallen asleep with the remote still gripped loosely in one hand.

In a sudden burst of understanding, Niall realizes that he must have been waiting up for him to get home. A look at the microwave in the kitchen tells him it’s about 11:30, and something tugs at Niall’s heart when he glances back down at his father’s sleeping form.

Tiptoeing around the side of the couch, Niall crouches down and presses a gentle hand to Bobby’s knee. “Dad, hey.” He gives his father’s leg a little shake until a noise rumbles out of Bobby’s chest and he cracks an eye open, struggling to sit up properly.

“Niall?” he asks gruffly.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Niall rises to his feet and helps pull his father up from the couch, the two of them swaying slightly when it takes him a moment to adjust to their combined weight. “You should get to bed, yeah?”

He doesn’t head to bed until Bobby is safely asleep in his own room, his snores echoing out into the hall the minute his head hits the pillow. Niall takes one final look at his frail body lying across the mattress, and he’s once again reminded exactly why he couldn’t take off for school, even if it were financially possible- there’s no way he can leave his father behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced here is _Let's Get Lost_ by G-Eazy.


	7. Chapter 7

There are two plastic containers of food sitting in front of Zayn when Niall gets to lunch on Monday. The lid is already missing from one, but the other looks untouched.

“From my mom,” Zayn explains. “She thinks you’re too skinny.”

He nudges the tupperware across the table as Niall drops into his seat. Something about the thought of Trisha worrying over his wellbeing sparks an ache in his chest, and he can’t decide if it’s a good one or not. “I’m not skinny-” he starts to protest.

“You are, kind of.”

“Says you!”

“I’m lean. There’s a difference.” Zayn stares over pointedly, his eyes dropping once to the proffered food before rising back to Niall’s. “I _will_ force feed you, if I have to.”

Niall huffs out a breath, but he’s already reaching for the plastic container in front of him and setting his own paper bag off to the side. The motion puts a satisfied grin on Zayn’s face.

“I’m perfectly healthy,” Niall adds for good measure.

Both of Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and his smile only widens when Niall punctuates the statement by shoveling a bite of food into his mouth.

*

“Are you taking the AP test?”

“Um.” Niall removes the end of his pen from his mouth. He hadn’t even realized he’d been chewing on it. “I wasn’t planning on it. Are you?”

“Probably.” Liam’s looking at him a bit funny, a small wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. “But what do you mean, you aren’t planning on it? You’re the smartest one in here.”

All Niall can do is shrug. “I doubt that.”

“You are.” Liam’s tone leaves no room for argument, and Niall blinks at the firmness of the statement. “You’d get a 5, easy.”

“Maybe.” Niall shifts a bit in his chair and looks back down at his work, the pulley diagram on the page turning fuzzy before his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll do well, too.”

“I only need to get a 4 if I want college credit.”

“Piece of cake.”

“For you, maybe.” A smile pulls at the corners of Liam’s mouth, and Niall gives him a little smile in return. “How about you just take the test for me?”

“Deal.”

They both laugh, and it’s the easiest conversation he and Liam have ever had, touchy subject notwithstanding. The whole day has been easier than usual, if Niall’s being honest. He just feels...lighter. Freer. Now that he’s shared a small (minuscule, even, but it’s still something) portion of his burden with Zayn, it’s been a lot less exhausting to carry. It’s like the simple act of existing isn’t as taxing as it usually is, and Niall is...he’s sort of happy. Is that weird?

After that, their attention returns to the practice problems in front of them. Niall flips to the next page and begins to sketch the force vectors onto an inclined plane diagram, and he’s about to lean over and add in Liam’s force of friction arrow because he’s forgotten it (again) when the sound of metal scraping across tile suddenly shatters their companionable silence.

Niall lifts his head.

The noise had been a chair being pulled up to their table. A boy who looks vaguely familiar in the _maybe-I’ve-passed-you-in-the-halls_ sort of way is now seated in the aisle to Liam’s right, his arms folded loosely on the black tabletop. His brown hair is styled into a messy fringe that falls haphazardly into his eyes, which are possibly the bluest of blues Niall has ever seen. He’s grinning, something fierce and conspiratorial and directed solely at Niall. A split second later, his hand darts out and pinches at Liam’s nipple.

“What the-” Liam jerks away from the touch and grimaces, his pencil falling from his hand so that he can rub at the now-sore spot on his chest. He glances sideways, eyes widening almost comically when he spots the new presence beside him.

“Louis!” he sputters. Niall watches the exchange with raised eyebrows, paying close attention to the way Liam’s face flushes until he all but resembles a tomato. “What are you doing here?”

_Interesting._

“Well, see, that’s a bit of a funny story- I’m technically supposed to be sitting in Drama right now, but we have a sub today who isn’t the most...observant.” Louis shrugs, like disappearing from class is as easy as breathing. “And it’s not like McMahon is ever actually teaching, so I thought I’d come pay you a visit.”

If possible, Liam’s cheeks brighten even more. He coughs and ducks his head. “You shouldn’t skip class, Lou.”

“Relax, Payno! It’s just drama.” He reaches over and pats Liam twice on the cheek in a placating gesture. “I’m basically a pro actor at this point anyway, remember?”

Liam swats the hand away, but the defense is half-hearted at best. Niall keeps flitting his eyes back and forth between the two of them, assessing, and that’s when Louis looks over and catches his gaze. His grin sharpens.

“Are you the genius lab partner?” he asks, leaning forward in his chair.

“Lab partner, yeah. Genius...no.” Niall blanches and scratches at the back of his neck. “And you’re...Louis?”

Louis straightens up again and puffs out his chest in an over-the-top manner. “Louis Tomlinson, Dana Hills theater star and future Academy Award Winner.” His bravado fades a moment later as he turns towards Liam. “He’s so modest, Li! Why didn’t you tell me he was so modest? And cute, too.”

“ _Louis,_ oh my god.” Liam’s face is positively flaming at this point. He blows out an embarrassed sigh and peeks over at Niall, who’s looking on in a mixture of shock and amusement. “I’m so sorry about him,” he apologizes.

“Sorry? Excuse you, I’m wonderful,” Louis huffs.

“More like unbearable,” mumbles Liam. It sounds more fond than annoyed, however, and he seems to be purposefully avoiding Niall’s gaze, along with the question that waits there. “Did McMahon even see you come in?”

“Please, McMahon loves me. I’m always welcome here,” Louis waves off the question with one hand. “I feel like you’re trying to get rid of me. Are you trying to get rid of me?”

The two of them continue with their banter, and Niall does his best to follow along while he scratches away at his AP problems at the same time. The bickering reminds Niall of watching a tennis match, trying to keep track of the ball as it whizzes back and forth across the net. It’s obvious that Louis likes to press at Liam’s buttons, but it’s even more obvious that Liam’s grumbling is all dramatics, if the endeared look on his face is anything to go by. They’re like kindergarteners with a crush, pushing each other over in the sandbox and pulling each other’s proverbial pigtails in their own warped manner of flirting.

Louis doesn’t leave until five minutes before the bell, and even then, it’s only because he’s left his backpack in the auditorium. He blows Liam an exaggerated kiss and waves at Niall before literally skipping down the aisle of desks and out the door.

When Niall looks over at Liam, the other boy is studying the black tabletop in front of him as though it might hold all the secrets of the universe.

“So...Louis,” Niall says.

“What about Louis?”

Liam’s tone is aiming for unaffected, but the way his voice lilts up at the end is a dead giveaway that he’s anything but. He still isn’t looking at Niall, either.

“He’s very...” Niall searches for the right word. “...intense.”

Liam peers sideways at him, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“You guys are friends?”

“Sort of.” Liam’s eyebrows furrow together. “We’re...well. I don’t really know.”

Niall nods but doesn’t press any further. It’s not his place, is it?

A beat later, Liam adds, “he’s just...he’s _Louis._ He’s like that with everyone. If you ever saw him around other people, you’d get what I mean.”

 _You guys will figure it out,_ Niall wants to say. Instead, he just shrugs. “And I’m your genius lab partner, huh?”

That brings the smile back to Liam’s face, his laugh coming out soft but sincere. “Yep,” he agrees. “You are.”

*

When Niall enters the kitchen to get something for breakfast the next morning, his dad slides a three by two business card across the table and says, “orthodontist this morning. Make sure you get a note to excuse you from class.”

“Always do,” Niall responds.

*

He doesn’t arrive at school until halfway through government, and when he goes to ask for a late slip from the front office, he’s smiling harder than he has for as long as he can remember. There are no brackets cutting into his lip, no tug of rubber bands to keep his mouth from opening all the way. When he runs his tongue across the front of his teeth, they’re smooth and metal-free, and he can’t stop marveling at the fact that after two-plus years, his braces are gone. _For good._

On the short bike ride from the house to Dr. Keszler’s office, Niall hadn’t thought anything of the appointment card in his pocket. It was just his monthly check-in, and they’d probably send him off with fresh rubber bands and a tightened wire and that would be that.

Instead, Dr. Keszler had peered inside his mouth, hummed a bit to himself, then announced: _it’s looking good, Niall. I think we’re about done here._

Two hours later, after throwing out his molar bands and scraping the glue off his teeth, they’d penciled him in for an appointment to set him up with a retainer and sent him on his way.

It’s safe to say it’s a good day. Actually, scratch that- it’s a good _week._ For once, things seem to be looking up for him, and it’s for this reason that Niall holds his head a bit higher than usual as he sits through third and fourth period. He even smiles at the girl who sits across from him in calc when she asks him a question about parametric equations.

When he gets to the cafeteria after the lunch bell has rung, Zayn’s waiting for him at their table, like always. He’s juggling a pear back and forth between his hands as he scans his eyes across the cafeteria like he’s looking for someone.

It takes a few seconds for his gaze to land on Niall, and when it does, he sets the pear down and full-out _beams,_ tongue between his teeth and eyes pinched at the corners. It’s like the sun breaking through on a cloudy day, and Niall’s stomach swoops at how utterly happy Zayn seems to see him. He flicks his tongue across his own teeth and smiles back, closing the rest of the distance between himself and the table.

“I couldn’t find you this morning-” Zayn begins to say, but he cuts himself off as soon as Niall drops into the seat across from him. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “Your braces are gone!”

“Yeah.” Niall can’t stop the grin that stretches across his face as he unwraps his sandwich. “I’m as surprised as you are, to be honest.”

When he glances over a moment later, he finds Zayn staring at him incredulously. The severity of the look has Niall’s fingers suddenly fumbling with the saran wrap he’s peeling away from his sandwich, and he blinks, trying to ignore the way his cheeks grow uncomfortably warm when he realizes that Zayn’s eyes are still fixed on his mouth.

“What?” he asks. “Are there- they didn’t scar, did they?”

Zayn squints at him, and a moment later, he startles back to awareness with a shake of his head. His eyes widen, and there’s an apology in his voice when he blurts, “no! No. They didn’t scar, don’t worry.”

The tension in Niall’s shoulders loosens. He feels a bit stupid for panicking, but...braces are expensive. They’re a one-time deal for him, so to think that they hadn’t totally worked...

“Sorry.” Zayn offers him a bashful grin and scrubs a hand across his jaw. “I was just...you have a nice smile. That’s all.”

Niall’s mouth pops open, but he’s quick to snap it shut again. The compliment is completely unexpected. It slips out and burrows into the corner of Niall’s chest, where it makes itself comfortable, sending warmth flooding from Niall’s fingers to his toes. His cheeks burn, and he can’t seem to do anything except gawk at Zayn, who looks like he’s regretting having said anything at all as the seconds tick on in absolute silence.

“I mean,” Zayn scrambles to correct himself. “Your smile was nice with the braces, too. I wasn’t, like, implying that the braces were- that they were _bad_ or anything.” He pauses and shakes his head, looking frustrated with himself. “God. Never mind.”

If Zayn's skin tone allowed him to flush red, Niall thinks, he’d probably be cherry-colored right now. As it is, his whole demeanor screams _flustered,_ his eyes darting around and his fingers _tip-tapping_ anxiously against the table top.

Niall clears his throat. “Thanks. For, uh, for saying that,” he mumbles. His eyes drop back down to his sandwich. He can still hear Zayn poking out a little melody against the metal across from him, and the sound seems to suck at least some of the awkwardness out from between them as a minute passes, then another.

Just when Niall thinks the topic has been dropped, he hears Zayn clear his throat. “It’s true.” Niall pauses with his sandwich halfway up to his mouth and raises his head. Gone is the embarrassment from Zayn’s features- it’s been replaced by a quiet sort of determination that makes Niall’s throat run dry. He keeps his tone nonchalant when he adds, “happy is a good look on you.”

Something warm curls in Niall’s belly. Unable to keep a straight face, his mouth curves up into another smile, and Zayn’s own pleased grin arises immediately in response.

*

As Niall falls into bed that night after finishing a particularly long calculus assignment, he can’t stop thinking about it. Zayn’s comments runs on a feedback loop in his brain, one that doesn’t stop even as Niall buries his face in his pillow and tries to focus on something, anything else.

 _You have a nice smile. Happy is a good look on you._ Niall’s cheeks tingle at the memory, and he rolls onto his back until he’s staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded atop his stomach.

He feels...he doesn’t know he feels. The sight of Zayn’s face lighting up like a Christmas tree when he’d spotted Niall approaching in the cafeteria has imprinted itself onto the backs of his eyelids, and it’s like...like that had been highlight of Zayn’s day. Like Niall’s mere presence at their shared table had made up for whatever else had happened over the course of the twelve-plus hours they’d spent separated before that.

Pulling the covers up to his chin, Niall turns onto his side and shuts his eyes. He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

*

“I have a proposition for you.”

It’s Friday, which means no soccer, which means that Zayn had met Niall at his locker after sixth period so that they could walk out to the bike racks together. Zayn’s moving backwards as they exit the school building, his steps even and steady despite the fact that he’s facing Niall instead of whatever obstacles lie in his path. It makes Niall laugh. “What is it?”

“There’s this thing at Harry’s today,” Zayn starts. They round the corner to the gym, and he adjusts the snapback he’s wearing before continuing. “Like, a pool party sort of thing? He’s been pestering me about it all day. It’s not a big deal, just Harry and Pezza and some of the others. They’re pretty adamant that I show up, and I thought, like...” he scratches at the back of his neck. “Maybe you’d wanna come?”

“A pool party?” Niall comes to a stop beside his bike and blinks over at Zayn. “I don’t...I mean, I don’t have swim trunks with me or anything.”

“We can swing by your place and pick some up.” There’s a plea in Zayn’s eyes, a faint one, but it’s definitely there. “C’mon, it’ll be no fun without you.”

There are a million reasons Niall could say no. For starters, he’s fairly certain that Perrie hates him, not to mention the fact that his skin doesn’t do too well when it’s exposed to sunlight and temperatures above eighty degrees for extended periods of time.

“I...” he begins.

Whatever sentence he’s attempting to form suddenly dies on the back of his tongue when something soft and slightly damp touches his hair. Niall looks up to find Zayn tipping the front of his snapback down with his fingers as he slips the hat onto _Niall’s_ head, a hopeful little smile on his face.

“Come,” he says softly. The ridges of his knuckles bump against the bill of the hat as he adjusts it, tucking it over Niall’s head until only a few tufts of blonde hair are visible. “Please?”

Zayn’s hand finally drops back to his side, but the snapback stays where it is, warm and snug on Niall’s head. _Why don’t I know how to refuse you,_ Niall thinks. He swallows. “Yeah, okay.”

Relief washes over Zayn’s features. “Awesome,” he grins. “We’ll drop your bike off on the way.”

*

Half an hour later, Niall isn’t even surprised to discover that Harry’s house is almost twice the size of Zayn’s, with not only a fountain out front but a _gate_ that protects the driveway from any passersby. Someone buzzes them in after a few seconds of waiting, and Zayn parks the truck at the end of a line of cars before leading the way to the front door.

Niall’s stomach is fluttering. He wipes his sweaty hands on the swim trunks he’d quickly changed into when they stopped at his house (navy blue with a white drawstring- the only pair he owns) and tries to calm himself, but that’s easier said than done. He has no idea what any of Zayn’s friends are like past his brief interactions with Harry and Perrie. The thought of embarrassing himself in front of them- or worse, embarrassing _Zayn_ in front of them- makes him want to vomit.

As if sensing his distress, Zayn turns to him and says, “they’re all cool, I promise.” He smiles reassuringly, and it quells Niall’s nerves a tiny bit. “You already impressed my family. _And_ you won Harry over just by speaking to him. This is nothing.”

That startles a laugh out of Niall. “Get on Harry’s good side, all of your problems disappear,” he nods. “Noted.”

The door flies open a second later, and sure enough, it’s Harry. He’s in bright yellow swim trunks and a battered white tank top, sunglasses pushed up into his hair to keep it out of his face. “It’s about time!” he crows. He beckons them inside, and Niall does his best not to ogle the paintings on the walls or the (very expensive looking) crystal light fixture that hangs from the ceiling. “Everyone else is already out back.”

“Didn’t know there was a designated start time for this thing. I must’ve misread my invitation,” Zayn says. Harry shoves him in the shoulder before heading down the hall towards what Niall presumes to be the backyard, leaving them to follow in his wake.

“You forgot to check the plus-one box, too.” Harry looks back over his shoulder and raises his eyebrows pointedly in Niall’s direction. “Thankfully Ed brought a surplus of hamburgers, so I’m not that put-out about it.”

The tips of Niall’s ears grow hot, but Zayn just knocks their elbows together in an _it’s okay, don’t take him too seriously_ kind of gesture.

An onslaught of noise assaults Niall’s ears as soon as they step outside, laughter and voices and music all jumbling together, and he has to pause for a moment just to absorb it all. The yard’s main fixture is obviously the swimming pool, which is lined by a short cement wall along the back that has decorative waterfalls pouring out of it in certain spots. Behind the wall is a sloping grass area that’s populated by various flowers and plants. A barbecue connected to a small bar top lies immediately in front of where they’re currently standing between the back door and the pool steps, and the rest of the yard’s space is taken up by wooden lounge chairs that are mostly covered by towels and/or people.

Harry heads straight for the barbecue, where a shorter guy with red hair is busy scraping away at the metal rack inside to prepare it for cooking. There’s a girl seated on a stool at the bar across from him, and Harry wastes no time in hanging himself all over her back as Zayn leads Niall along behind him.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” the girl huffs. She turns her head away just in time as Harry’s tongue darts out to lick her cheek. It misses and catches her ear instead. “Harry, that’s gross!”

“Have some common decency, bro,” says Zayn. He draws to a stop at the end of the bar, leaving Niall to hover somewhat uncertainly next to him as Harry unwinds himself from around the girl and grins. He offers them a two-fingered salute, then wanders off, leaving the girl to grumble under her breath and turn her attention to Zayn and Niall.

“We choose his house for a party and he suddenly thinks he can do whatever he wants,” she complains. The comment is directed at Zayn, but it’s obvious when she notices Niall as well, her eyes widening slightly. “Oh, hi! Who’s this?”

“This is Niall.” Zayn makes the introduction for him, and Niall can’t help the way he fidgets back and forth on his feet as the girl sweeps her gaze over him. There’s no judgment on her face, however, and Niall’s stomach settles when she finds his eyes again and offers him a sunny smile.

“I’m Jade,” she says. “And Ed’s the man on the grill. Say hi, Ed!”

“Hi.”

“He’s nicer than he seems,” Jade turns back to Niall and rolls her eyes. “A bit quiet, is all.”

Niall fights the urge to smile. “No worries, I get it,” he says. A hand touches his elbow, and when he peeks sideways, Zayn is grinning at him, tongue in cheek. His fingers are warm against Niall’s skin.

“Want a soda?” he asks, voice low. Niall nods, and Zayn speaks up again to tell Jade, “we’re gonna grab drinks and make the rounds, I think. See you later.”

Jade just smiles and shoos them away with her hands. “I’ll keep an eye on this one and make sure he doesn’t burn anything. Nice meeting you, Niall!”

“You, too,” Niall offers, and then Zayn is pulling him gently away using his grip on Niall’s elbow. He doesn’t let go until they reach the ice chest beside the back door, stooping down to grab two cans of Pepsi.

“Still breathing?”

Their fingers brush when Zayn passes over a soda. It shoots tingles up Niall’s palm and through his arm. “Barely,” he says.

Zayn smiles. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“I mean, you basically coerced me into agreeing to come.”

“I charmed you into agreeing, there’s a difference.”

Niall can’t argue with that, so he shrugs and ducks his head, fiddling with the tab on his Pepsi can without actually opening it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Zayn asks. There’s concern tucked behind the question, and Niall’s chest goes warm the way it always does when Zayn worries about him.

“I’m good.” He looks up and smiles, the motion coming to him easier than he’s expecting. “D’you, uh, wanna go talk to some more people?”

Zayn blinks like he’s a bit startled, but a beat later, a slow smile crawls onto his face. “I absolutely do,” he says.

They emerge back onto the main area of the patio, and Zayn ends up dragging Niall over to where Harry is talking to a few people on some of the lounge chairs. It turns out that Niall actually recognizes one of them- it’s Cher, from English. She looks shocked when she spots him, but not displeased, and she scoots over before patting the space next to her on the chair. Niall peeks over at Zayn, but he’s already busy bickering with Harry, so he takes a deep breath and moves to perch himself on the wood.

“Niall, hi!” Cher exclaims. Her long brown hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, and she’s smiling at Niall like he hasn’t spent the entire year avoiding conversation with her in English. “I can’t believe you’re here. No offense,” she adds.

“None taken,” says Niall. He plants both of his feet on the concrete and glances sideways, shooting Cher an apologetic smile. “I can’t really believe it either, to be honest.”

“It’s nice, though!” she says. “I mean, I should have guessed it, since you and Zayn have been hanging out and all.”

Speaking of Zayn- he’s now seated on the chair across from them, gesticulating wildly at Harry and the girl that’s laid out on the other half of the chair behind them. When his eyes flit sideways by chance, his arms come to a halt in midair and he sends Niall a bright grin, the force of the smile pushing up the skin around his eyes.

Harry smacks at his hands a moment later to get him to continue his story, effectively ruining the moment and forcing Zayn to look away. Niall clears his throat and turns back to Cher, whose eyes have narrowed curiously.

“What is it?” Niall asks carefully.

“Nothing,” Cher replies, the sweet smile returning to her face. “Don’t worry about it.”

They chat for a little while longer, mostly about English and their essays for _Streetcar._ The conversation flows easily, and Niall wishes, suddenly, that he’d made more of an effort to get to know Cher at the beginning of the year, now that he knows what a genuinely kind and bubbly person she is. In fact, he’s found himself wishing that about a lot of people lately. He can’t help but wonder how different things would have been if maybe- just maybe- he’d opened up and actually spent time with people over the course of the past three-plus years.

“Alright, that’s it.” Harry’s voice booms out suddenly, and when Niall looks over, he’s standing up and shedding his tank top. “I’m gonna sweat to death. Who wants to swim?”

“It’s not even that hot,” Zayn says around a laugh.

Harry glares at him. “Fine, then _don’t_ swim with me, you dick. Cher, care for a dip?”

“Sure.” Cher tosses Niall an amused little shrug before she stands as well, maneuvering her way out from between the lounge chairs. “Leigh-Anne! You coming?”

The girl who’s been sprawled behind Zayn and Harry shakes her head and returns to her reclined position, slipping her sunglasses down her nose. “You’ve seen my hair after chlorine, Harry.”

“This is a _pool party,_ ” Harry emphasizes, then shakes his head. “Whatever, you all suck.”

He spins on his heel to where Cher is waiting, and a split second later, he has her up over his shoulder in a fireman’s grip as he sprints towards the pool. Her shrieking laughter echoes around the patio as they go tumbling into the water with a large splash. When they surface once more, Cher immediately goes to dunk Harry’s head back underwater with a squeal of indignation.

“Children,” Leigh-Anne mutters.

Niall stifles his laugh into his hand, but Zayn notices the sound anyway, his eyes flicking away from the pool and back to him.

“Seemed like you and Cher were getting along,” he comments.

“Yeah.” Niall looks toward the water once more, where a few more people have decided to jump in. “She’s nice.”

“She is.” Their eyes meet, and Zayn inclines his head in the direction of the pool. “You gonna swim?”

“Maybe.” Niall arches a brow. “Are you?”

“Maybe.”

They break into matching grins, and Zayn snorts out a laugh before getting to his feet. He grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it up and over his head until he’s in nothing but his red swim trunks, flip flops abandoned somewhere beneath the lounge chair.

“Well?” he nudges at Niall’s shin with his toe. “You coming?”

And, see, for some reason, Niall hadn’t really thought about this when he was briefly weighing the pros and cons of a pool party: shirtless Zayn in all his tan, toned glory, torso glistening in the afternoon sun like some kind of otherworldly specimen. Niall’s not _blind_ \- he knows Zayn’s attractive. It’s just never been a thing, not until now. Niall’s mouth feels like all the moisture has been sucked right out of it. He’s stuck on the sight in front of him, which inevitably leads him to picture his own chest, scrawny and white and pathetic in comparison.

After a beat too long, he manages to pick his jaw up from the ground and stand on shaky legs. “Yeah, I- sorry.” He bites his lip and grasps at the hem of his t-shirt, stalling there for a few more seconds before he mentally kicks himself and yanks the fabric over his head.

Harry’s pleased as punch to see them getting into the water, and he shows as much by leaping onto Zayn’s back as soon as they’re waist deep in the shallow end. Niall watches them wrestle from the side with his back resting against the pool’s edge, perfectly happy to observe. It’s comfortable, familiar.

A moment later, Zayn emerges from beneath the surface a few feet away. He’s finally wiggled away from Harry’s flailing arms and has risen back to his full height, the upper half of his body materializing above the water as he uses both hands to slick the dark hair back from his face. It almost looks like a practiced move, but Niall knows that it’s not. It’s just _Zayn,_ beautiful and ethereal and almost untouchable.

Zayn notices that he’s being watched at the same time Niall realizes he’s staring. His face flames, and it’s not from the heat- it’s the way Zayn’s excited grin fades into a pointed smirk, the glint in his eye as he shuffles through the water and over to where Niall is standing.

Niall’s so flustered that he doesn’t see what’s happening until it’s too late. One second, the hot concrete is smooth against his back; the next, he’s inhaling a mouthful of water and thrashing around as Zayn drags him beneath the surface. He kicks his legs and tries to make a sound of protest, but exhales a cloud of bubbles instead. Zayn’s hands push playfully at his shoulders, and Niall pushes back. Zayn’s skin is scalding, even when they’re submerged in water like this.

“I hate you,” Niall sputters once they finally surface. He shakes the hair out of his face while Zayn laughs, swiping the water away from his eyes with the back of his arm.

“I’m sorry,” he says, not sounding apologetic at all. “You were looking a little warm, that’s all.”

“I hate you,” Niall repeats.

Zayn’s lips curl with the force of his grin, and he lunges, diving beneath the surface and grabbing Niall around the legs. Niall shouts, but Zayn’s got him in a death grip as he lifts Niall out of the water and carries him across the pool as best he can. His arms are steady around Niall’s thighs, but still, Niall has to cling to Zayn’s head to keep himself upright, one hand pressed tight to his shoulder as Zayn hauls him forward.

“Put me down, put me down!” he calls out, breathless from laughter. Zayn just cackles and tightens his hold. Niall can feel the puff of his laughter against his sternum, and it makes him shiver and fight a bit harder to break free. He slaps at Zayn’s back. “You’re such an idiot, god-”

With a generous splash, Zayn dunks him again, his hands skittering away from Niall’s legs and up his sides. He clutches at Niall’s waist and tickles his fingers against the skin until Niall is all but choking from laughter as he writhes for the surface, capturing Zayn’s wrists to hold them at bay.

“You’re horrible.”

“Hey, at least you put up a good fight.”

Niall pushes a splash in his direction, and Zayn laughs, ducking aside to avoid most of the hit. “I didn’t know you were ticklish,” he adds, earning himself another face full of water. “Okay! Okay. I deserved that. I’m genuinely sorry this time.”

“You should be,” Niall grumbles. He uses his feet to propel himself onto his back and assumes a floating position, watching Zayn from the corner of his eye all the while. “If you so much as come near me-”

“I won’t.” Zayn slinks down until he’s only visible from the nose up. Then, without warning, he spits a stream of water right at Niall’s face, sending him flopping onto his front and ruining his split-second peace. “Oops.”

Playing the victim has lost of all its appeal. Niall launches himself at Zayn’s back as forcefully as he can manage, causing the other boy to stagger forward. A burst of laughter leaves Zayn’s chest as Niall wraps his arms around his neck, and he hoists Niall up with his hands on the backs of his thighs in order to get a better grip. “Are you this light out of water, too?” he teases.

“I’m not skinny,” Niall protests for what feels like the millionth time.

“You’re a twig. A ruler, a feather, a toothpick-”

“If you two are finished flirting,” a sharp voice says, and they both freeze. Perrie’s stood on the ledge of the pool in a pink sarong with her arms folded over his chest, and she’s not smiling. “The food is done.”

She turns away with a flick of her blonde hair over her shoulder, and it’s like all of the contentedness evaporates from Niall’s body in an instant. He releases Zayn’s neck as though he’s been burned and drifts backwards through the water, scrambling to gain his footing on the steps.

It’s like an electric shock, the reminder of where they are and who they’re with, and Niall’s brain clambers to catch up. He sees Jade and Leigh-Anne over at the bar, laughing as Ed scoops burger patties onto a plate, while Cher and Harry are talking to another boy Niall doesn’t know on the lounge chairs, and then _Perrie-_

The bite in her voice has left marks on the inside of Niall’s chest, red and angry and raw. He frowns and hoists himself out of the water, pulling his swim trunks up as he goes. When he turns back around, Zayn has one foot on the lowest step and a hand on the metal railing, but he isn’t moving. The playfulness in his gaze has completely disappeared. “Niall-”

“I’m just gonna...” Niall waves his hand vaguely and all but sprints across the patio to the barbecue. He’s still dripping wet and confused when Ed passes him a burger with a small smile, and he accepts the plate with a weak smile of his own before he pushes his sodden hair away from his face and makes his way toward Cher and Harry back at the lounge chairs.

“He lives!” Harry grins around a mouthful of food, swallowing it a few seconds later to say, “This is Nick, by the way. He’s in college so he thinks he’s better than the rest of us. Nick, meet Niall.”

“I _am_ better,” Nick says. Then, to Niall, “hello.”

“Hi.” Niall seats himself beside Cher and drops his eyes to his plate, his appetite nonexistent. “Does water wrestling always get that violent?”

That makes Harry laugh before he starts in on a story about he and Zayn at summer camp, or something. Niall’s not really listening. He raises his burger to his mouth and takes a tiny bite, tasting nothing. Chewing it is like chewing plastic, or something equally as difficult. It feels like lead when he swallows.

“Are you okay?” Cher asks gently. Harry doesn’t even seem to notice that they’re both distracted and continues babbling on, regaling Nick with his tale more than anyone else at this point.

“’m fine. Tired,” Niall mumbles, setting his burger down and picking up his plastic fork to poke at the fruit salad on his plate. It’s a weak excuse, and he’s well aware of Cher following his gaze when it flits across the patio to where Zayn and Perrie are having a hushed conversation between themselves, neither of them looking too pleased. Niall only watches for a moment before he has to look away.

They eat in silence after that. Well, silence minus Harry, who talks and talks to the point where Niall’s starting to wonder if he’s even breathing. He manages to eat half of his own burger before he physically can’t stomach anymore without wanting to be sick and sets his plate down at his feet. The sun has begun its steady descent over the horizon, and the warmth of the afternoon is quickly being replaced by a cool coastal breeze that skims over the surface of the pool and tickles the hairs on Niall’s arms. He folds his arms across his exposed chest and tries not to shiver. His shirt is somewhere nearby so he could put it on, but his back is still pretty damp. It wouldn’t do much good, as far as warmth is concerned.

“Hey, sorry.” The four of them look up at the words, and it’s Zayn, of course it is. The apology is a blanket one, but he’s staring at Niall when he says it, the weight of his gaze slightly overwhelming. Another gust of wind rattles past them, and Niall shakes from the force of it. It makes Zayn’s eyebrows furrow. “You’re freezing. Why didn’t you get a towel?”

“Forgot one,” Niall mumbles.

“There are extras in the laundry room,” Harry pipes in, and Zayn sighs.

“Yeah, alright. C’mon, I’ll show you where it is.”

Niall rises from his spot beside Cher and silently follows Zayn into the house. They wander through the kitchen until they reach a small room tucked behind it, complete with a washer, dryer, and some cabinets for storage. Zayn reaches up and pulls a clean towel from one of them, handing it to Niall without a word.

“T-thanks,” Niall says quietly. He unfolds the fabric and wraps it carefully around his shoulders, eyes falling to the floor as he regains some semblance of feeling in his arms and his teeth slowly cease their chattering.

“Should’ve said something sooner.” Zayn’s tone is exasperated, but a moment later, his eyes soften. He takes a step forward and curves both of his palms over Niall’s shoulders. “You’ve practically turned into a popsicle.”

His hands rub up and down Niall’s arms for a few seconds in an effort to create some heat, and Niall fights the urge to sway forward at the gentle touch. “Sorry,” he croaks, tightening his fingers around the edges of the towel where it’s wrapped around his neck. “Didn’t wanna interrupt your conversation.”

“Wasn’t even a conversation.” Zayn shakes his head, hands pausing in their movements and settling against Niall’s biceps. “Pezza just...she doesn’t get it, is all.”

“Get what?”

“Us,” Zayn murmurs. He tugs at the towel that’s cocooning Niall’s shoulders and pulls it a little tighter, his eyes focused somewhere near Niall’s throat. “Better?”

“Much.” Niall rolls his bottom lip into his mouth and hesitates a second before he adds, “Zayn, if she doesn’t like me-”

“It doesn’t matter what she thinks.” Their eyes finally meet, and Niall swallows back the rest of his words. “She’s not important. You are. Easy.”

The breath catches in Niall’s throat. “Zayn,” he says, a bit helplessly.

There’s a pressure building against all sides of his chest that only grows as he takes in the way Zayn’s looking at him. His face is completely open and honest, but also determined, like he won’t let either of them step back until the full meaning behind his words has sunken in- and there’s something else there, too, something just past fond that’s hard to decipher. It hurts Niall’s head, trying to make sense of it all, and he can only keep his gaze on Zayn’s face for a minute more before he has to look away again.

“We should probably go help clean up,” Zayn eventually says. Niall manages a stilted nod.

The corners of Zayn’s mouth curve faintly as he takes a step back, hands falling to his sides. The sudden absence of his body heat so close to Niall’s own snaps Niall back to reality, and he steadfastly ignores the throbbing in his stomach that’s come from Zayn’s words as they exit the laundry room.

“We thought you got lost for awhile there,” Harry greets them. It seems that everyone has already reconvened in the living room, the remnants of the food piled up on the counter in the kitchen. Harry and Nick are on the sofa, half-lying on top of one another. Jade, Leigh-Anne, and Cher are squished together on the love seat nearby, and Ed is on the floor flicking through a stack of DVD’s. Perrie, Niall is unsurprised to discover, is nowhere to be found. “Trying to get out of cleaning duty, I see.”

“You caught us,” Zayn deadpans. “Looks like we succeeded, too.”

“You’ll pay for this later.”

“An empty threat.” Zayn grins when Harry shoots him a half-hearted scowl. “Nick, keep your pet on a leash, eh?”

“Sorry, it’s past his bedtime,” Nick says, burying his hand in Harry’s hair. The movement turns Harry into the equivalent of a purring cat that’s curled up against his chest.

“Right. Anyway, I think we’re gonna head out.”

“No movies?” Harry slants an eye open and pouts.

“Not tonight, Haz. Who hijacked our shirts?”

“They’re on the counter somewhere,” Jade voices, hopping up from her spot on the love seat. “Wait! Gimme a hug before you guys go, at least.”

Zayn obliges, laughing, and Niall only has a moment to study the exchange before he’s suddenly engulfed in an embrace as well.

“I hope you had fun,” Cher tells him, offering a smile as she steps away.

Niall feels the back of his neck go hot. “I did,” he says sincerely. “It was nice talking to you.”

“Funny how that works, right?” Cher’s smile turns teasing, and Niall lets out a sheepish laugh. “I’ll see you in English. Maybe we’ll even exchange words. Who knows!”

“Leave him alone, it’s cute that he’s shy.” All of a sudden, Jade is there to pull him into a hug of her own. “Don’t be a stranger!”

“ _O_ -kay, we’re leaving,” Zayn says pointedly, pulling Niall out of her grasp with a hand on his shoulder. “Bye, everyone!”

There’s another chorus of farewells as they grab their t-shirts and throw them on, and then Zayn lays a palm against the small of Niall’s back to propel him gently towards the front door. Harry’s neighborhood is quiet around them when they step outside, the rumble of the truck engine cutting through the silence as they back out of Harry’s driveway and into the street.

“I like them,” Niall says softly. He turns to look out the window, the streetlights whizzing by in a blur of a yellow. “Well, most of them.”

“Good. They like you, too, though that isn’t really a surprise.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re actually pretty cool, Niall Horan, whether you choose to believe that or not.”

When Niall glances over, Zayn’s grin is impossible to miss even in the darkness. It turns his stomach into putty. “I think ‘cool’ is a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Not even,” Zayn scoffs. “Give yourself a bit of credit.”

“I’m working on it.” Niall props his elbow up against the door and rests his chin on his hand. “You gonna walk me to the door again?”

“Maybe. Are you gonna let me?”

A muffled laugh leaves Niall’s throat as he presses his forehead against the window and closes his eyes. “I suppose it wouldn’t be too much of a bother.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: There is mention of character death in this chapter but it's very minor and doesn't actually occur onscreen (it's just mentioned in passing).

“Another? Are you kidding me?”

Niall looks up from the copy of _Gone Girl_ that’s resting on his knees. His dad is halfway off the sofa, hands in his thinning hair and mouth cinched in frustration. On the TV screen, the Giants have apparently just scored their fourth run against the Dodgers, which would explain the shouting. It makes the corner of Niall’s mouth curl in amusement, and he pulls his legs in a bit closer to himself where he’s seated on the opposite end of the couch as he tries not to laugh. An average Saturday night in the Horan household it is, then.

“They won the World Series last year, dad. You can’t be surprised.”

“I don’t give a shit what they won,” Bobby grumbles. “Four-zip at the top of the fifth. What a joke.”

“We could still make a comeback,” Niall offers.

“Doubtful, but thanks for trying.” His dad cracks a small smile, and Niall returns it before dropping his eyes back to his book. It’s nice, this: no commitments, no worrying, just a baseball game and a quiet house and his dad’s face tired but relaxed, a half-empty bottle of beer at his side.

“What book d’you got there?”

“ _Gone Girl,_ ” Niall doesn’t lift his head. “They just made it into a movie, I think.”

Bobby _hmms._ “It any good?”

“It’s not bad. Sort of weird, but not bad.”

“Can’t remember a time when you didn’t have a book in your hands.” Niall looks up at that, eyes widening in surprise. “We tried to sign you up for Little League, and you sat in the outfield reading _Harry Potter_ the whole time.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Niall jokes.

“You didn’t.” When Niall looks over, his dad is leaning forward to look at him, hands pressed to his knees and eyebrows furrowed. “I’ve always been proud of you, Nialler. You know that, don’t you?”

The air gets stuck in Niall’s throat, and he coughs, trying to dislodge the lump that’s rapidly forming there. “Yeah, dad,” he manages a faint smile, the movement of the muscles sparking a prickle against the backs of his eyelids. “I know.”

Seemingly satisfied, Bobby returns his attention to the game at hand, settling back into the couch and picking up his beer. Niall follows his lead and goes in search of his last spot on the current page, but he’s interrupted before he can find it by the chirp of the telephone from the kitchen.

Bobby groans. “If it’s some kid calling as a joke-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell them to get lost.” Niall leaves his book facedown on the couch and heaves himself up, his socks making a soft _swooshing_ noise as he pads into the kitchen. The phone keeps on trilling from its plastic base, and Niall glares at it for a solid two seconds before picking up the handset. “Hello?”

Silence.

There’s a short intake of breath on the other end of the line, but whoever it is doesn’t say anything. Niall adjusts the handset against his ear and frowns. “Look, if this is a prank call, I’m just gonna hang up-”

“Niall?”

The sound of his name nearly makes him drop the phone, but he fumbles and catches it at the last second. “Zayn?” The shock is impossible to keep out of his voice. “What’re you- why are you calling so late?”

They’d parted ways the night before with easy smiles and more promises of Monday after Zayn had, in fact, walked Niall to the front door again. His brown eyes had practically been inklike in the darkness, hard to read as always, like jagged strokes scribbled between thick, straight lines. There was something there that Niall still couldn’t seem to figure out- a silent question that continued to fall on Niall’s deaf ears as Zayn smiled one last time, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and strode off into the night.

Niall’s been thinking about it ever since: the unspoken question, the way Zayn’s touch set fire to his skin even when they were underwater, the way his smile burned brighter than the sun at three o’clock on an afternoon in July.

“This is super strange, isn’t it?” Niall blinks back to the present. “I’m sorry. I just...I wanted to talk to you, I guess.”

The words settle in Niall’s chest like a bird returning to its nest, the flutter of its wings matching the flutter of his heart. “Talk? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m-” There’s a pause, and Niall can picture it perfectly, how Zayn’s probably rubbing at his nape and wrinkling his forehead as he tries to get the words out in the way he wants.  “I, uh. I told my parents about art school.”

His tone is casual, but Niall knows better.

“What’d they say?” Niall asks, quiet, though he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer.

“They’re...not thrilled, to say the least.” The statement is punctuated by a bitter laugh, and the sound causes Niall’s stomach to seize up painfully. “I knew they wouldn’t be pleased, but like...I didn’t think...”

“Zayn,” Niall says softly. _This is my fault,_ he thinks. _If I hadn’t pushed you into it- if I’d kept my stupid class envy to myself-_

“It’s okay,” Zayn cuts in. “It’s not like- I mean, they didn’t kick me out or anything ridiculous.” A sniff. Is Zayn crying? Niall’s hand begins to tremble where it’s wrapped around the receiver in a death grip. “I just- I had to get away for awhile. Couldn’t sit at home after that, y’know?”

“Where are you?”

“’m just driving, not really...going anywhere specific,” Zayn admits. Niall can all of a sudden hear it, the muffled hum of an engine and the faint trickle of noise from a radio. He feels like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

“Come over,” he says immediately. The insistence in his own voice surprises him, but he doesn’t take the proclamation back, not even when he looks at the time on the microwave or catches the sound of his dad coughing in the living room. It just seems like the simplest solution, an obvious one.

“Niall.” Zayn’s voice is disbelieving, and Niall senses the feeble rejection before it even comes. “It’s late, I couldn’t-”

“Come over,” Niall repeats, with as much conviction as he can muster. Then, like the pulling of a plug in a bathtub, the certainty suddenly begins to drain out of him, leaving him embarrassed and apprehensive. He clears his throat. “It’s better than your truck, right?”

“My truck is great,” Zayn protests lamely, and just like that, Niall knows he’s won. He smiles to himself, the movement fragile but there. “Okay. I’ll...I’ll be there in a few, I guess. Your dad, he doesn’t mind?”

“He won’t,” Niall promises. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”

“...alright,” Zayn murmurs. “See you soon.”

Niall stays on the line until he hears the three short beeps that signify Zayn is finally gone, then places the handset back on its base. His dad looks up as he enters the living room, eyebrows rising slightly, and Niall pauses in the doorway to clear his throat.

“Who was that?” Bobby asks.

“You, um, remember Zayn from last weekend?” Niall waits for his dad to nod before continuing. “He kind of...had some trouble at home today, and I was wondering, well- is it cool if he stays here tonight?”

Bobby’s eyes narrow thoughtfully, and Niall shifts his weight from one foot to the other, still hovering at the edge of the room.

“...you haven’t had a sleepover since the third grade,” his dad says at last.

“Sleepover?” Niall huffs a quiet laugh in surprise, his cheeks heating. “Jesus, dad, don’t call it that. I’m almost eighteen.”

“But that’s what it is, isn’t it?” The wrinkles around Bobby’s eyes grow more pronounced when he smiles, and the sight settles pleasantly in Niall’s stomach. He shakes his head as his mouth tips up of its own accord. “’Course your friend is welcome here, Niall. You’re practically an adult, you don’t have to ask.”

“Thanks.” The smile on Niall’s softens before he goes to return to his spot on the couch, gesturing at the television with one hand. “I heard cheering, did we score?”

“One run.” His dad is back to frowning, and Niall stifles his laugh by coughing into his fist. “Can you believe it? Beginning of the season and we’re already playing like shit.”

Niall just hums and pretends to keep listening as he picks up his book, eyes flitting toward the window every so often in search of a familiar set of headlights.

*

The knock comes about twenty minutes later. Niall drops his book almost instantaneously and hops up to his feet, ignoring his dad’s pointed look as he rounds the back of the couch and pulls open the front door.

Zayn is staring at the ground, his body silhouetted by the porch light in a way that’s starting to become all too familiar. He glances up at the creak of the door and smiles timidly when he spots Niall. There are dark rings beneath his eyes, and he looks so positively exhausted that Niall’s chest twinges at the sight of him.

“Hey,” Zayn murmurs.

“Hey.” Niall opens the door a bit wider. “Come on in.”

Zayn lingers outside for a moment longer before nodding and following Niall into the house. The door clicks shut behind them, and that seems to trigger movement from the sofa. Bobby peers over his shoulder at them, then clambers up to his feet, his face sleepy and eyes kind.

“This is my dad,” Niall says carefully. He sticks close to Zayn’s side, the other boy only hesitating for a split second before he takes Bobby’s hand. “Dad, this is Zayn.”

“Nice to meet you, son.” Bobby grips Zayn’s palm for another few seconds before releasing it, and Niall watches as some of the tension seeps from Zayn’s shoulders at the words.

“You too, sir.” His lips twitch into a faint smile. “Thank you for letting me come over at such last minute. I...I know it’s late.”

“First of all, call me Bobby.” Niall catches the way his dad’s gaze turns even gentler, and he tries hard not to stare as he flicks his eyes back to Zayn and notices the visible working of his throat. “Second, there’s no need to thank me. We may not have much space, but that doesn’t mean we’re not happy to share it with you.”

It’s time like these that give Niall the uncontrollable urge to just...wrap his dad up in a hug and never let go, thank him until his lungs give out and his voice goes hoarse. As it is, he has to blink against the sudden sting at the backs of his eyes, his heart growing three sizes too big for his chest.

It seems like Zayn gets it, too, if the gobsmacked expression on his face is anything to go by. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and when he smiles, it looks a bit watery. “That means a lot,” he manages to get out, rubbing a hand over his face. “Really...thank you.”

The whole moment feels delicate, like if Niall grasps it too hard, it might shatter. He reaches out to Zayn, tentative, and touches his fingers fleetingly to the side of his arm. It earns Zayn’s attention, the other boy blinking as though he’s seeing through a fog that’s just starting to clear for the very first time.

“We’ll be in my room,” Niall says to his dad, and Bobby nods. He moves back to the couch, and Niall takes the opportunity to slip his fingers around the jut of Zayn’s wrist so that he can pull him gently down the hall. He tries not to think too much about how soft the veins are on the underside of Zayn’s arm, or how Zayn keeps shooting him little looks of half-awe, half-gratitude that steal the breath from his lungs.

Niall doesn’t drop Zayn’s hand until they’re tucked away behind the closed door of his bedroom. Even then, he keeps moving, too afraid that if he stops, everything will come crashing down around him. “Do you want some clothes to change into?”

The sound of Zayn clearing his throat fills the small room, and Niall can feel his gaze even as he stands in front of his dresser with his back turned. “Sure.”

It’s silent after that, save for the rustling of clothing as Niall fishes out a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweats for Zayn to borrow. They won’t be a perfect fit, but at least it’s something more comfortable than the black jeans Zayn’s currently wearing. Niall balls the clothes up against his chest and nudges the drawer closed with his hip, then turns back to Zayn. “Here,” he says softly. Their eyes meet as Niall goes to hand over the wad of fabric, but he’s quick to look away. “There’s, uh- the bathroom’s right next door, if you need it.”

“Thanks.” Niall blinks, and that’s when he realizes he’s still gripping the clothes between them. He lets go, ears burning, catching only a glimpse of Zayn’s little smile as he leaves the room to go change.

When he comes back a few minutes later, he’s in the black sweats and the worn _Rolling Stones_ t-shirt Niall has given him, the pants rolled once at the waist and the shirt collar slightly gaping from overuse. His hair is flat and slightly damp against his head, like he’d stuck it under the tap to wash out the gel. Everything about Zayn is softer this way, like the world has shed him of some of his layers. It makes Niall’s stomach twist with a feeling he can’t quite name.

“I really appreciate this,” Zayn says. He drops his dirty clothes to the floor and kicks them off to one side, and that’s when Niall notices that his feet are bare where they poke out from the bottom of the sweats.

“It’s not a big deal.” Niall rests his head against the wall and pats the spot next to him where he’s sitting sideways on his tiny twin mattress. “You can sit, if you want.”

Zayn’s forehead wrinkles momentarily, but then he’s crawling across the bed to settle himself at Niall’s side. He mimics Niall’s position with his back slumped along the wall, long legs stretched out in front of him. “Your dad...he’s pretty cool,” he says a minute later.

“Yeah,” Niall agrees, twisting his hands together in his lap. “He’s...he’s the best, y’know? Does everything he can for me. He’s given up a lot.”

“It’s nice,” Zayn intones. “My dad...he’s never really understood me, I guess. Like, he works hard, obviously. I’m not ungrateful or anything. We just...we’ve always been on different pages.”

“What’d he say when you told him?”

Niall glances sideways and finds Zayn picking at a loose thread that hangs from his pant leg, winding and unwinding the string around his index finger in a mindless cycle.

“‘How could you even consider throwing away your future like this?’” Zayn draws air quotes around the words with his fingers and shakes his head. “‘We raised you better than this. I thought we had a plan.’” His voice pitches back to normal, and quieter, he says, “I told him it was his plan, not ours. He was...god, he was devastated. You should have seen his face.”

Zayn tips his head back and rests it against the wall, eyes drifting towards the ceiling. From this close up, it looks like a defense mechanism, an attempt to hold the tears at bay. “I’ve never felt like such a disappointment in my _life._ The whole time, my mom just sat there. She didn’t say a word. Couldn’t even look at me.”

His voice cracks on the last sentence, and something cracks open inside of Niall’s chest along with it. “You’re not a disappointment,” he murmurs.

Just one month ago, Niall couldn’t have even begun to fathom being close to a person like this- close enough to see everything. The good, the bad, the ugly. Their hopes, their insecurities. Close enough to be trusted with their beating heart clutched between his fingers, and that’s how this feels: like Zayn is shredding open his insides and passing them over to Niall without a second thought, unafraid and endlessly trusting.

It’s paralyzing. Niall looks at Zayn’s face and sees so much of himself there: the hurt, the worry, the sheer terror of falling short. He sees the brick walls and the locked boxes and the pieces, scattered, waiting for someone to come put them back together again.

“I am, though,” Zayn finally says. “At least for right now.”

“They’ll come around.” Niall shakes his head before Zayn can protest. “Try to believe me. Just...try, okay?”

Zayn’s mouth opens, then closes again. There’s still skepticism written all over his face, but when his eyes meet Niall’s, some of the pain seems to thaw out of his gaze. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Being...you,” Zayn decides. “Do you have any paper?”

Niall tries to ignore the heat that crawls up his neck and answers, “on the desk. Why?”

“I wanna draw you.” Zayn looks back over his shoulder as he climbs off the bed, one eyebrow raised. “Is that cool?”

“I guess so,” Niall says, dumbfounded. He tracks Zayn’s movements as he crosses the room and combs through all of the junk that’s scattered across the desk, finding a random notebook and a pencil a moment later. He tucks the pencil behind his ear and shoves the notebook beneath his arm but doesn’t turn around, instead leaning forward over the desk to examine something.

“Who’s this?” he asks.

Niall pushes himself onto his knees in an effort to see what Zayn’s pointing at, and his heart promptly drops to his feet. “Oh, that’s-” Niall pauses and forces himself to swallow, mouth suddenly dry as the Sahara desert. “That’s, um. That’s my brother.”

There’s a photograph clasped between Zayn’s fingers that Niall knows for a fact had been buried at the very bottom of the pile of things on his desk. He’d stuck it there for a reason- to keep himself from looking at it for too long, to keep himself from getting locked up inside his head. Now, though, he can just make out the beaming smile on Greg’s face, the red of his cheeks and the camouflage of his uniform as he stands with his arms thrown around the two other men at his side.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Zayn says carefully. He places the photograph back on the desk and pads over to the bed on silent feet, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight. Instead of settling against the wall, however, he sits cross-legged and turned towards Niall’s profile. “What’s his name?”

“His name was Greg.” Niall pulls his legs up to his chest and wraps them loosely in his arms, fingers knotted together around his calves. “He, uh.” The words clog up the inside of his throat, and it’s like Niall can barely breathe. He coughs roughly, eyes still fixed on his knees. “He was on duty in Iraq when- when his truck hit a landmine. There were four of them inside.” Niall squeezes his eyes shut. “No survivors.”

A beat passes. The room is completely silent; all Niall can hear is the ticking of the clock in the kitchen and the ragged scraping of his own breath into his lungs.

“Niall,” Zayn finally says, stunned.

“It’s okay.” The statement come out on autopilot. Niall presses his forehead against his knees. “It- it was awhile ago.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No, but it-” Niall lifts his head and wipes at his runny nose, frustrated with himself. “It gets easier with- with time. Sort of.”

His eyes are starting to burn, so he digs into them with the heels of his palms, huffing out a strangled breath. He keeps his head there and counts backwards from ten, just like he’s always done to stave off the piercing ache in his chest. On six, a hand touches his ankle, gentle. Zayn loops his fingers around the skin like an anchor, thumb brushing the knob where leg meets foot.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Niall’s whole torso shudders with the force of his next exhale. Everything narrows down to their one point of contact: Zayn’s palm, smooth and steady, radiating heat that slithers through Niall’s limbs until it wraps around the hollow space in his heart and eases the ache.

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” Niall’s voice falters. He glances sideways and finds Zayn looking back at him, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards when their eyes meet. The motion is soft and sad, but somehow still full of understanding.

“Can I hug you?” he asks abruptly.

Niall’s eyes start to sting again, this time for an entirely different reason. He nods.

Zayn’s arms are warm and strong and the fabric of his borrowed t-shirt is soft against Niall’s cheek. The embrace has Niall going rigid for all of three seconds before he sinks into it, his fists balling up against the small of Zayn’s back as Zayn wraps one arm around his shoulders and uses the other to cradle Niall’s head in his palm. He smells like spices and ocean air and mint toothpaste, and when Niall presses his face into the other boy’s shoulder, it’s like stepping onto solid earth after riding a rollercoaster: everything falls together at once. His head stops spinning, his heartbeat slows, the ringing in his ears fades until he can hear the gentle puffs of Zayn’s breath against the side of his head, the slow _scritch-scratch_ of his fingers against Niall’s scalp.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,” Zayn murmurs.

Niall sniffs. “Shut up,” he says weakly.

“It’s true, like.” Zayn settles his palm around the nape of Niall’s neck, thumb brushing the edge of his hairline. “I’m kinda endlessly amazed by you.”

There’s nothing Niall can say to that, so he simply tightens his arms around Zayn’s middle, hopes that the gesture conveys everything he can’t seem to put into words. “Your pencil fell,” he mutters.

“I’ll get it in a sec.” Zayn sweeps his palm absently down Niall’s spine, making no move to pull away. “It’s your pencil, anyway.”

“You still wanna draw me? I’m a wreck.” Niall reluctantly releases his hold on Zayn’s waist and scoots back a few inches, scrubbing his hands over his red-rung eyes. It’s meant to be a joke, but Zayn’s looking at him like it’s not even a question, his gaze stubborn.

“You’re perfect,” he says resolutely. Niall scratches at his jaw and ducks his head. “Can I? Still draw you, I mean.”

“If you insist.” Zayn cracks a smile, and Niall manages to smile back. “Do I just...sit here?”

“Yeah, nothing fancy.” Zayn lifts one of his legs, then the other, scouring the bed for his lost pencil. He finds it quickly and grabs onto the previously forgotten notebook before climbing off the bed and settling himself in the desk chair, straddling it backwards and rolling forward until he’s a few feet away from the mattress. He flips the notebook open and props it against the back of the chair. “You can move and stuff. I just wanna get a basic sketch.”

“Sure,” Niall says, even though he doesn’t know the first thing about drawing. He adjusts his legs so that he’s sitting criss-cross style, hands tangled together in his lap.

“What was Greg like?” Niall jerks his head up at the question, but Zayn’s looking down at the paper, already sketching away. His fingers glide in long strokes over the page, forehead wrinkled in concentration.

“He was...” Niall twiddles his thumbs. “He was a typical older brother, you know? I looked up to him a lot.” His gaze drifts to the side, focusing at some indeterminable spot on the wall behind Zayn’s head. “He surfed, played baseball. It killed him that I never really got into the game.”

“Did he go to Dana Hills?”

“Yeah.”

The questions continue as Zayn draws, and- it’s not so bad, talking about Greg like this. The pain that usually accompanies the loss is still there, shifting beneath Niall’s skin, but it’s drifted from a steady throb into a dull ache. It’s identical to all the other times Zayn’s shot question after question at Niall, gently inquiring, and maybe that’s what makes it easier- the fact that it’s just Zayn, who makes everything easier, it seems.

So Zayn sketches and Niall talks and the night passes, slow and sweet and calm. Eventually Zayn gets tired of sketching and ends up back on the bed, this time with a sharpie gripped between his fingers (another discovery from Niall’s desk, of course). He leans against the wall beside Niall and pulls one pale arm into his lap, uncapping the marker with his teeth and starting a leisurely path of doodles across the skin. A crooked little heart, a book, a stick figure wearing a cape that’s labeled NIALL in Zayn’s looping handwriting. The felt tip of the pen tickles as it forges a path up Niall’s arm. Niall follows the movements through hooded eyes, slumping down until he’s half asleep on Zayn’s shoulder. Even still, his gaze traces the yin and yang that Zayn’s shading in below the crook of his elbow with a strange sort of fascination.

“I like that one.”

“Yeah?” Zayn peeks up briefly from beneath his lashes, then returns his eyes to his work, thumbing lightly over the fresh ink. “It’s a bit like you and me, I think.”

“It is,” Niall agrees softly. He retracts his arm so that he can examine the design up close, tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips. “Which one of us is which?”

“Well, you’ve got the blonde hair.” Niall tips his head up to look at Zayn, unable to hide his grin when Zayn raises his free hand and chucks him gently beneath his chin. “I think I’m more the dark-and-brooding type.”

“Except you’re not.” Niall returns his cheek to its spot against Zayn’s arm and blinks sluggishly at the digital clock on his bedside table, which tells him it’s just past four o’clock. God, have they really been talking for that long? “Your smile is, like, the brightest.”

“Is that so?”

“Scientifically proven,” Niall nods, and Zayn lets out a muffled laugh. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Anything.”

“My hair’s not really blonde.”

Zayn snorts. “I already knew that, Ni.” He reaches up to ruffle said hair, and Niall doesn’t even try to get away, his limbs going syrupy at the nickname. “You get sort of loopy when you’re tired, don’t you?”

“’m not that tired, just...drained,” Niall explains. He vaguely registers the sensation of the Sharpie returning to his skin, Zayn’s fingers gingerly gripping his bicep. His eyes fall shut. “Is it my turn to ask questions?”

“You’re always allowed to ask me questions.”

Niall slants one eye open and rolls his bottom lip into his mouth. The late hour and the lethargy in his bones allows him to muster up just enough courage to ask, “what’s the story behind you and Perrie?”

Zayn’s fingers only falter against his arm for a split-second, so brief that Niall almost misses it. Then, he’s back to doodling, his eyebrows furrowed as he focuses on his drawing. “We dated for awhile,” he says quietly, voice nonchalant, but Niall reads right into the way his shoulders stiffen.

“For how long?”

“...about a year, give or take.”

“Wow,” Niall breathes. He’s suddenly feeling much more awake. “That’s...that’s a pretty long time.”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

Zayn’s fingers come to an abrupt halt, the marker pressing a dark stain into Niall’s skin. It nearly makes him wince, but he swallows instead and does his best to stay still, his eyes focused on Zayn’s face. “We wanted different things, I guess.”

 _What does that mean?_ Niall almost asks, but he holds back. “That must have been rough,” he offers instead.

“Not really. I mean, we’re still friends, right?”

Is that what it’s supposed to be? The hushed arguments, the silent glares- it’s the strangest form of friendship Niall’s ever heard of, but he’s in no place to judge. “You deserve better, anyway,” he concludes.

Neither of them says anything after that. They don’t move, either, staying right where they are in their melted little puddle of limbs atop Niall’s twin bed. Zayn taps out a rhythm against his thigh and Niall watches his fingers dance until his eyelids grow heavy and start to crunch when he blinks. The clock bleeds 5 AM in stark red digits, and as dawn plucks at his bones and tries to suck him into sleep, he’s suddenly struck by an idea.

“I wanna show you something.”

Zayn’s head lolls sideways slowly, like he’s dragging it through molasses. “Right now?”

“Yes.” Niall straightens up from his half-asleep slouch, the joints in his back cracking. “Are you okay to drive?”

“You’re crazy,” Zayn says, but there’s no heat in it. He rubs some of the exhaustion from his eyes with one fist. “Just give me a minute.”

It’s more like fifteen minutes, but eventually they do manage to get their feet into their shoes and Zayn’s head scrunched through one of Niall’s hoodies. They tiptoe from the safety of the bedroom towards the front door, Niall keeping his duvet wrapped snug around his shoulders as he follows Zayn silently out of the house. The sky glows a soft blue-black that marks the transition of night into day, and the air hangs cool and sharp with the misty fog that always rolls in off the ocean in the mornings. It’s warm in the truck, though, Niall poking at the radio and keeping his voice quiet as he directs Zayn down Highway One toward the beach.

“Park here,” he says eventually. Zayn obeys, pulling onto the dirt shoulder and shutting the truck off with only a short questioning glance in Niall’s direction. “We have to walk the rest of the way.”

“You’re not gonna murder me, are you?”

Niall laughs as he jumps down from the truck, duvet still tucked around him like a cape. “Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.”

A low line of bushes covers the edge of the bluff a few feet away, and Niall heads towards them, picking his feet up high enough once he gets there so that he can climb through. A path appears soon enough, wobbling down towards the water. It only takes a few minutes to complete the trek, Niall’s feet thudding softly against the sand when they reach the bottom.

“Wow.”

Zayn’s voice is soft, full of awe. He steps up to Niall’s side and scans the view in front of them, mouth parted halfway. It’s a quiet little cove tucked into the underside of the rocks, the sand littered with seaweed and other ocean debris but otherwise mostly untouched. Out on the water, the fog is draped across the surface like a thin blanket, the sun just barely beginning to peek up from the horizon and cut through the mist.

There’s a muted sort of beauty to it; Niall knows the feeling, the etherealness of it all. He kicks off his flip flops and lowers himself down into the sand, and Zayn joins him a minute or so later, silent and appreciative.

“My mom used to bring me here,” Niall draws his knees up to his chest and tightens the blanket around his shoulders to protect himself from the chill. “She found this spot when she was a kid. Apparently it’s one of Dana Point’s best kept secrets.”

“It’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah,” Niall says distantly. “We’d watch the sunrise on Sunday mornings, probably about once a month. It was like...our thing.”

“That’s...it sounds really nice.”

“It was.”

Niall peers sideways, but Zayn’s eyes are focused on the horizon, tracking the fuzzy glow of the sun as it slip-slides upwards. The sharp cut of his jaw is covered in shadow, long eyelashes shimmering against his cheeks. He’s like a hologram, almost, an intangible figure flickering in the early morning light.

“She left after...after Greg,” Niall eventually adds, turning back to the water when he feels Zayn’s eyes flit his way. “It was too much for her, I guess. I don’t even blame her, not really. The house, all of the people who knew him, it was a lot.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, so low that Niall almost misses it, “do you miss her?”

“...Sometimes,” Niall admits. “It’s worse for my dad, I think. He blames himself for not being able to make her stay, you know? She’s never even called, not once.” He rubs the corner of the duvet against his nose. “I come here, though, and it’s like I’m...closer to wherever she is, maybe.”

There’s a rustling sound from beside him as Zayn scoots closer, pressing the length of his body up against Niall’s. He pushes their shoulders together and digs his bare feet into the sand, pinky toe brushing Niall’s foot. They’re so close that Niall can feel it when Zayn shivers, their elbows knocking as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his borrowed hoodie.

Niall wiggles until he’s loosened the duvet from around his left side and offers it out to Zayn like a wing. “Here.”

Zayn shoots him a startled look, but then he’s folding the blanket over himself so that they’re both encased in it, their own little ball of warmth against the world. Niall feels serene and protected, yet hysterical all at once, like he could go sprinting into the freezing water of the Pacific and it still wouldn’t be enough to stop his heart from thundering like a drum in his chest.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” Zayn says quietly. _Thanks for trusting me,_ he means. _With all of this._

Niall shrugs, doesn’t look at him. “Might as well get it all out in the open, right?”

A beat, and then- then there’s a hand at his hip, an arm winding around his waist. Zayn strokes his fingers down Niall’s side and hugs him closer, the heat from his torso seeping sideways, and Niall melts with it. He curls into Zayn’s body without even thinking about it, would climb right inside of him if he could.

Zayn turns his head. His nose nudges at Niall’s temple, breath tickling against his cheek when he exhales. The muscles of his arm jolt against Niall’s lower back.

“Niall, I.” He pauses, eyelashes fluttering against Niall’s skin. He’s _so close._ Niall is frozen, eyes fixed on the rising sun as it splatters the sky in oranges and reds. He thinks, maybe, that he knows what Zayn’s about to say- that he finally understands what was meant by all of the smiles, the compliments, the looks that he couldn’t quite figure out. Everything’s coming into focus, like an image through a camera lens when the light filters in correctly.

The hand that’s on his hip slips beneath the hem of his t-shirt, caressing the skin there. It’s like the touch is providing the rest of the words that Zayn’s too afraid to say, and the feeling spirals through Niall like a rocket. He breathes out, sinks into the moment so that he’ll be able to remember it, all of his edges tucked into Zayn’s like two matching puzzle pieces as they watch the sun come up through drooping eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an actual [tag](http://groundopenwide.tumblr.com/tagged/sooner-or-later) over at my tumblr for this fic where I reblog related stuff (quotes, pictures, whatever). Check it out if you want!


	9. Chapter 9

Something is buzzing.

The noise tickles at the edges of Niall’s awareness, trying to pry him from sleep. He huffs out a breath and turns his face further into his pillow as though it might protect him from the sound, one hand curled up beneath his cheek.

The buzzing finally stops a minute later, only to pick up again right away. Niall grumbles and squeezes his eyes to keep them shut. It’s too late, though- he can already sense the first signs of his body coming back to full consciousness, the lights flickering on in his brain and his limbs twitching. With a tired sigh, he goes to stretch out his stiff legs, and that’s when he remembers.

“Sorry.”

Zayn’s voice is sleep-warm and slightly gruff, like wood before it’s been sanded. The statement ends up buried in the back of Niall’s neck as Zayn nuzzles at the spot, and the movement causes Niall’s eyes to flutter open. 

The first thing he sees is his bedroom wall, practically smushed right up against his nose where he’s spooned up in front of Zayn on the twin mattress. The duvet is still on the floor where they’d abandoned it at seven o’clock this morning, sand covered and salt scented, and there’s a hand splayed comfortably over his stomach, Zayn’s nose cool where it’s pressed up against Niall’s nape. His arm tightens momentarily where it’s looped around Niall’s waist, and then he’s gone, the bed shifting as he slips out from behind Niall to go find his phone.

“...mom. Hi.” Niall rolls into the warm space that Zayn has vacated, watching the other boy through careful eyes as he slumps back against the door, phone pressed to his ear. “I’m fine, I promise. I ended up staying at Niall’s last night.” 

A pause. Zayn sighs and shuts his eyes, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I just...I needed some space, okay?” 

It’s like his whole body deflates, then, and Niall wants nothing more than to reach out and reassure him, but he’s too far away. The bedroom seems twenty times bigger like this. “I- I don’t think I’m ready to come home yet. A few more hours. I’ll be back by dinner, though, promise.” He opens his eyes again, gaze automatically seeking out Niall’s. “He’s good. Tell the girls I’m still breathing, okay? Love you.”

A thick silence falls over the room. Zayn turns away and drops his phone onto his pile of abandoned clothes in the corner, and Niall takes the opportunity to sit up in bed, one fist rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. He waits for Zayn to face him again before asking, cautiously, “everything okay?”

“I guess.” Zayn pushes a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “She mostly wanted to make sure I wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere. I have no clue what she’s thinking about...everything else.”

“Well…you can stay as long as you need.”

“Thanks.”

For a moment, they just look at one another. Niall clears his throat. “Um. Breakfast? We have Cheerios.”

The offer drags a faint smile onto Zayn’s face, and the sight unties some of the knots in Niall’s stomach. “Cheerios, huh?”

“Maybe some Frosted Flakes, if you’re lucky.” 

Zayn laughs, and Niall smiles instinctively, ducking his head. He climbs off the bed and shuffles his way over to Zayn, who catches him by the elbow just behind the door. His fingers dig soft crescents into Niall’s pale skin. “How are you?” 

“I’m okay.” It’s like a reflex, the way Niall’s body tries to sway forward into Zayn’s chest. He catches himself at the last second, swallowing hard as he glues his eyes to where Zayn’s thumb brushes over the skin of his forearm. “Better than I’ve been for awhile, I think.”

When he looks up, Zayn’s gaze is on him, soft as ever. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

They wander out into the kitchen, where Niall does indeed find a box of Frosted Flakes hidden in the back of the pantry. There’s also a note on the counter from Bobby, letting them know that he’s gone out to run some errands and should be back later. Niall chucks the note into the trash and carries the two bowls of cereal to the living room, where Zayn’s taken up residence on the couch and is flicking lazily through channels on the TV.

“They’re having a How It’s Made marathon on Discovery,” he says, accepting one of the bowls from Niall. “I thought Sunday morning television was supposed to be better than this.”

Niall laughs, and it’s surprisingly easy to fit himself into the space at Zayn’s side, close but not too close. “I like How It’s Made,” he offers, shoveling a bite of cereal into his mouth.

“Of course you do,” Zayn grumbles, but he leaves it on the channel without further complaint. 

They eat their cereal in comfortable silence, munching away while onscreen, the process of making pillows is being explained in great detail. It’s not exactly the most riveting thing in the world, but it’s nice, being able to just sit with Zayn like this after the draining events of last night. Niall spoons up the last of his cereal, then sets his empty bowl on the floor where Zayn had already set his a moment before.

“Hey,” Zayn says. 

Niall straightens back up and turns to him, the _what is it_ perched on the tip of his tongue, but then there’s a hand covering one of his own, startling him into silence. He looks down to find Zayn’s thumb skimming over one of the sharpie-doodled tattoos he’d put there last night.

When he lifts his head again, Zayn’s staring at him, his eyes tired but happy. He tugs a little at Niall’s arm, a gentle question, and Niall swallows the rock that’s lodged itself into his throat before scooting closer. The inches between them disappear until Niall is curled into Zayn’s side, head resting in the nook where arm meets shoulder. Zayn dips his head and presses his nose into Niall’s hair for a moment, and it should be weird, but it’s just…comfortable. It’s _them._

That’s how Bobby finds them a couple of hours later, tangled up on the sofa with the television playing softly in front of them. Zayn had dozed off a little while ago, and Niall’s own eyes are at half-mast, his limbs loose like jelly. When the front door opens, he shifts slightly, doing his best not to jostle Zayn as he peers over at his dad, who has stopped on his way to the kitchen to consider them. His expression is indecipherable.

“Hey,” Niall mumbles. His cheeks feel hot, but he tries not to think about it, just watches his dad’s face for the smallest sign of a reaction.

Finally, Bobby nods, though his face still gives away nothing. “Is he staying for dinner?”

“Don’t think so.” Niall wets his tongue across his lips, all too conscious of the press of Zayn’s slack hand against his hip. “Dad—”

“You’re happy?” Bobby interrupts, and Niall’s mouth runs dry. “He makes you happy.”

“I—yeah.” There’s a weight pressing down on Niall’s lungs, practically suffocating him. He clears his throat as quietly as he can manage. “Really happy.”

Bobby nods again. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, the skin smudged with black, and Niall loves him so fiercely it hurts. “That’s that, then,” his dad says. “As long as you’re happy.”

Something cracks open inside of Niall’s chest, hope and gratitude and fear all spilling out in equal amounts. “Dad?”

“That boy looks at you like you’ve got his whole world wrapped up in your hands,” Bobby says. “You know that, don’t you?”

Niall’s heart stutters to a halt. It’s like he’s suddenly stuck underwater and the world around him has gone hazy, sliding past him in rippled fragments. Beside him, Zayn shifts in his sleep, his fingers tightening momentarily against Niall’s waist like he’s reassuring himself that he’s still there. It’s also a confirmation of sorts, and it’s _terrifying_ , Bobby’s words ringing hollowly in his ears.

Niall drops his eyes to his lap, brushing his fingers over the yin and yang on the inside of his elbow. When he looks up again a few seconds later, his dad is gone.

*

The phone rings late again that night, only a few hours after Zayn heads home for dinner. Bobby doesn’t even make an effort to pick it up this time, just lets Niall dart into the kitchen to grab it off the counter.

“Hello?”

“Will you meet me at the computer lab in the morning?” Zayn asks in lieu of greeting. “Like, before the first bell?”

“Sure,” Niall agrees. He hates to ask, but— “How did things go once you got home?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Zayn replies, and he doesn’t sound upset at all, which is something. “Just—the lab, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall echoes. “I’ll be there.”

He can’t see Zayn’s smile, but he thinks he can hear it when Zayn murmurs, “see you then.”

*

Zayn is already seated on the bench in front of the lab when Niall arrives the following morning. He springs up as soon as he spots Niall, face breaking out into a smile, and Niall smiles back.

“Okay, I’m here,” he says. “What’s up?”

Without answering, Zayn grabs hold of Niall’s wrist and pulls him through the door into the lab, leading the way toward one of the computers situated against the wall. “Do you remember what you said to me a couple of weeks ago, when we were in my room?” 

He drops into a chair and powers the computer on, and Niall follows suit, his eyebrows furrowing. “Um. Vaguely?”

“You said I should do what I love, since I have the resources for it,” Zayn explains. He clicks open the web browser before turning toward Niall, hands tangled together in his lap. “I got home last night and went straight to my mom and that’s what I said. ‘I can do this, so why shouldn’t I?’ I asked her what she would have done if dad had wanted her to leave her job completely and stay with us kids. You know what she said? ‘I wouldn’t have listened. I would never give up doing what I love.’”

Zayn’s knee bounces violently up and down as he speaks, and Niall reaches out to steady it with a gentle palm. He can feel the heat of Zayn’s skin even through the denim, but that’s nothing compared to the warmth and excitement in Zayn’s eyes, to the way his fingers tremble when they cover Niall’s against his leg.

“I’m doing it,” Zayn says firmly. “I’m committing to art school in Chicago, and—I wanted you to be with me when I did it.”

There are hardly words to describe the way Niall’s chest fills up at the admission, his heart panging like it’s ricocheting off the sides of a glass jar. 

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Seriously.” 

Zayn squeezes his hand briefly before letting go and turning back to the computer. Niall rolls his chair closer until he can nudge his thigh up next to Zayn’s own, watching as the Art Institute of Chicago web portal pops up on screen.

“I’m really proud of you,” he says suddenly, the words quiet.

Zayn’s hand freezes visibly over the mouse. The air between them tastes thick, weighed down by something unnameable.

“I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you,” Zayn finally says. He checks the green ‘accept’ box onscreen and then, without even hesitating, presses ‘SUBMIT.’

WELCOME TO THE ART INSTITUTE OF CHICAGO, the page tells them.

“Shit,” Zayn whispers.

Niall just nods, his chest tight. “You did it.”

“I did it.” Zayn blinks, turning his head until he’s staring Niall dead in the eye. “Holy fuck, I actually did it.”

There’s a long pause. Then, they’re reaching for each other at the same time, arms around waists and faces pressed into each other’s necks. Zayn laughs, the sound soft and wet.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, the words burying themselves against Niall’s t-shirt. “Just…thank you.”

Niall just presses closer, burrowing in until it hurts to breathe.

*

“Hi,” Liam greets, mere seconds after Niall’s walked in the door for sixth period. “Are you going to prom?”

“Uh,” Niall stops beside his desk, forehead wrinkling. “What?”

“Prom,” Liam repeats. He’s smiling, but Niall’s too confused to smile back. “I’m inquiring on behalf of a friend.”

Niall manages to get his limbs to cooperate long enough for him to actually take his seat and pull out his notebook, but Liam’s question is still bouncing around in his brain and wreaking general havoc on his thought processes. In all honesty, Niall had sort of completely forgotten about prom, having scratched it off his list of preoccupations weeks ago after finding out the ticket price.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he eventually says. “It’s, um…pretty expensive. And it’s not like I have a date.”

“Who says you need a date?”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “Do you have a date?”

Liam has the decency to look sheepish, rubbing one hand along the back of his neck. “Well, yeah. But only as of this weekend.”

“My point exactly,” Niall says, but he’s smiling. “It’s alright. I’m just gonna hang out with my dad like I always do. Besides, no one wants to see me dance, I’m horrible.”

A laugh bubbles out of Liam’s throat as shakes his head. “I’m sure that’s not true. There’s no way you’re as bad as me.” Sobering up a bit, he adds, “there’s still time to change your mind, though. Tickets haven’t sold out yet.”

Niall just shrugs and flips open his notebook without offering a reply.

*

“You know I’m not going to prom, right?”

They’re standing next to the bike racks. Zayn is fastening his shin guards while Niall tugs the lock out from around his bike tire, but they both pause at Niall’s words, glancing carefully at one another.

“I wasn’t sure,” Zayn says, after the silence has gone on for too long. “You hadn’t mentioned it.”

“Liam was asking me about it today.” Niall searches Zayn’s face for any sign of recognition, but there is none. “You’re going, right?”

“I made plans with Harry and everyone awhile ago, but…” Zayn blinks over at him, forehead wrinkling. “You’re really not going?”

“I can’t afford it, Zayn.” Niall pushes up to his feet, looping the coiled bike lock around his wrist. “You know that.”

Zayn nods. His lips twist like maybe he wants to say something else, but nothing comes. He pulls his socks over his calves and stands up as well, running a hand through his hair. “Right, well, I should get to practice.” 

Niall grasps his bike handlebars, squeezing until his knuckles turn white. He feels like he’s let Zayn down somehow, even though the whole situation is out of his control. “Sorry,” he murmurs, dropping his eyes.

The apology causes Zayn’s expression to soften, the lines around his mouth loosening. He reaches out and cuffs Niall gently beneath his chin.

“Not your fault,” he says. “Just gonna miss you, that’s all.”

The statement warms Niall up from the inside out, the corners of his mouth curling into a small smile. 

“Make fun of Liam’s dancing for me,” he says. 

Zayn’s laughter fills the air, and it continues to ring in Niall’s ears the whole way home.


	10. Chapter 10

Prom seems to be all anyone wants to talk about for the rest of the week. 

There’s a niggling sensation in the back of Niall’s mind the whole time, a faint one, the only sign that part of him wishes he could afford a ticket. He tries to tell himself that it’s just prom, that it’s not a big deal. He hasn’t attended a school dance once in the past four years; why should this one be any different?

The only other time Zayn brings it up is on Friday at lunch. They’re outside, lounging beneath what’s come to be _their tree,_ the one near the art building. Zayn’s hair is soft and loose, falling into his eyes as he laughs at Niall’s failing attempts to unwrap his sandwich. The saran wrap keeps clumping together, making it close to impossible to remove it.

“I give up,” Niall says, tossing his sandwich into Zayn’s lap. “You do it.”

Zayn grins over at him before turning his attention to the sandwich, biting his lip as he tries to peel the plastic away. “Are you gonna do anything tomorrow night, since you’re not coming to the dance?”

“Um, I’ll probably watch the baseball game with my dad.” 

At long last, Zayn manages to rip open the saran wrap. He pumps a fist in victory and passes the sandwich back over. “That’s it, really?”

“What else would I do?” Niall frowns and bites into his sandwich, eyes dropping into his lap. 

“I don’t know, I was just wondering.” Zayn’s tone is placating, and Niall swallows, blowing out a sigh after he does so. He looks up again and offers Zayn a half-smile, one side of his mouth curled.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.”

“I’m not worried,” says Zayn. He shrugs, adding, “I just really wish you could come, that’s all.”

Niall’s chest goes a bit fuzzy at the admission, even though he’s already heard it once before. He extends his leg and pokes his sneaker-clad toes against Zayn’s thigh, settling it there when Zayn automatically drops a hand to wrap around his ankle.

“Take lots of pictures, you can show me on Monday,” Niall says. 

Zayn’s thumb rubs against the jut of his ankle, an absent but comforting gesture. When he smiles, there’s a hint of resignation in it, but it’s genuine nonetheless. “Yeah, alright.”

*

Harry stops Niall after English on Friday afternoon, waving from where he’s leaning against the wall outside of Ms. Paul’s room. Niall pauses in the doorway and looks back over his shoulder to shoot Zayn a questioning look, but the other boy just shrugs and nudges him in Harry’s direction before disappearing down the hallway for his sixth period class.

“Um, hi.” Niall slides up against the wall as well so that’s he’s out of the way of the passing-period bustle. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, no, everything’s fine!” Harry smiles, dimples popping into his cheeks. “I just wanted to ask you something.”

Niall lifts his eyebrows warily, a silent _go on._

“Right, so, Zayn told me you can’t come to prom. He didn’t exactly say why, so I’m kind of wagering a guess here, but I happen to have an extra ticket and I want you to have it,” Harry says. “I was gonna bring Nick, but he bailed on me at the last second. You wouldn’t have to pay me back or anything like that, it’s just—I know Zayn tries to play it cool, but he’s really bummed you aren’t coming. Like, super extremely bummed. He’d be so excited if you showed up after all.”

Niall blinks, half-blinded by the hopeful glint in Harry’s eyes. There’s excitement bubbling up in his own stomach, but he forces it down. “Harry, I can’t just…take a ticket that you spent $100 on.”

“Yes, you can. If you don’t, that’s $100 wasted.” Harry’s smile dims slightly, his expression turning pleading. “Come on, Niall. I know you want to come. For Zayn, at the very least.”

That’s it, isn’t it? Zayn would be _so happy._ Niall can already picture his surprised smile, the one with his tongue pressed between his teeth and his eyes crinkled at the corners. 

“I don’t—” Niall clears his throat. He was bound to lose this argument from the start. “…I don’t have a tux.”

Harry’s whole face brightens. He knows he’s won. “A dress shirt’ll do just fine,” he says, slinging his backpack around to his chest so that he can rummage through it. He finds the extra ticket and offers it to Niall, who hesitantly accepts it. “Do you wanna meet up with us beforehand for dinner and stuff?”

“Uh…” _I’d actually have to pay for that, which is something I can’t do._ “That’s okay. I’ll just…see you guys at the dance?”

Harry nods just as the warning bell for sixth period rings, returning his backpack into its proper position. “It’s gonna be fun,” he says. “I promise!”

*

“Dad, I…need to ask you a favor.”

Bobby lifts his eyes from the newspaper that lies open in front of him, glancing at where Niall is hovering in the kitchen doorway. “Well, that’s not something that happens every day.”

A smile pulls at Niall’s lips, but it disappears just as quickly, his nerves returning. He purses his lips for a moment, then asks carefully, “Can I borrow the truck tomorrow night?”

“What for?”

“I, um, kind of got invited to prom?” Niall rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Harry had an extra ticket.”

Bobby’s eyebrows rise with curiosity. “Harry?”

“A friend of Zayn’s.”

“Ah.” His dad’s eyes widen knowingly, the wrinkles around his mouth growing more pronounced when he smiles. “Zayn.”

“ _Dad._ ” Niall rolls his eyes, the tips of his ears burning. “It’s nothing. I’m just going to prom, like all other normal high school students do.”

Bobby folds up his newspaper and pushes his chair back from the table so that he can stand. “You’ve never asked to use the truck before.”

“First time for everything, right?” Niall fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt. “If you need it for work or something, I can just—”

“Niall,” his dad interrupts. “You can have the truck. Relax.”

He crosses the kitchen and claps an easy hand to Niall’s shoulder. The tension leaks from Niall’s limbs at the touch, and he shoots his dad a small smile, one that he hopes properly conveys his gratitude. Not just for this, but for…everything.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

“Don’t mention it.” Bobby’s palm moves to the side of Niall’s neck, his skin rough and calloused but still radiating warmth and reassurance as he squeezes gently. “Now, we’d better find you something to wear, huh?”

*

By some miracle, Niall still has an old white dress shirt and a pair of black slacks that mostly fit him, and there’s a simple black bow tie hiding in the back of his dresser where he’d stuffed it after Greg’s high school graduation a few years ago. He takes his time fastening it in the bathroom mirror the following evening, knotting the fabric around his neck with fingers that shake only minimally. 

He finishes straightening the tie and then leans back, resting his hands on the edge of the sink. There’s gel in his hair, and even though he doesn’t have a jacket, his dad did manage to find a pair of black suspenders which are now hooked into the waistband of his slacks. Niall stares at his reflection, blinking in shock. 

It still hasn’t quite hit him, the fact that he’s actually going to his Senior Prom. It still hasn’t hit him that _this_ is the person he is now: one who puts on formalwear and attends school events and has friends, people who care about him, who actually want to spend time with him.

Niall sucks a sharp breath into his lungs and rolls his shoulders back, trying on a smile. His mouth slides up and open easily, braces-free teeth on display, and it feels good. It feels _right._ He laughs a bit at the realization, giddiness swelling up inside of him like his chest is a balloon that’s expanding with helium, growing and growing until it’s fit to burst.

He finally emerges from the bathroom to find his dad waiting, perched on the arm of the sofa. Their eyes meet, and then Bobby stands up, planting his hands on his hips as Niall comes to a stop in front of him.

“Well, would you look at that.” He reaches out to idly adjust Niall’s bowtie, mouth pressed into a soft line. Once he’s done with that, he smooths out the shoulders of Niall’s shirt with his fingers and nods his head in approval. “You clean up nicely,” he says. “Your mother and Greg would approve, I think.”

The words barrel into Niall like a punch in the gut. He blinks against the sudden stinging sensation that presses against the backs of his eyes and swallows around the lump that rises in his throat, heart trying to claw its way right out of his chest. Without warning, he wraps his arms around his dad’s shoulders and pulls him in, hugging him tightly. Bobby freezes up, startled, but only for a brief moment. His arms eventually find their way around Niall as well, squeezing until most of the oxygen has fled from Niall’s lungs.

“Love you, dad,” Niall mumbles.

When they finally separate, Bobby’s eyes are wet, but he’s smiling. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of car keys, reaching out so that he can fold them firmly into Niall’s hands.

“Proud of you,” he says. “Have fun.”

*

Prom is being held at a hotel down by the beach, in a grand ballroom that’s been decked out in shimmering decorations and white-clothed tables. Niall stops just inside the doorway and forces himself to take a deep breath as he scans the room, his stomach fluttering. The lights have been dimmed and it’s too dark to really make out any faces from where he’s standing, so he ducks his head and pushes his way further inside.

He ends up by the refreshments table, where he decides that he might as well pour himself some punch on the off-chance that it isn’t spiked. He’s about to reach for a plastic cup when a hand lands on his shoulder.

“You came!” Liam’s grin is as vast as the Grand Canyon, taking up the majority of his face. He looks so excited that Niall can’t help but smile back, shrugging his shoulders a little.

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad you changed your mind.” 

Niall tips his head back, gazing at the silver streamers that are dangling from the ceiling.

“Me too,” he says honestly. He drops his gaze back to Liam. “So, where’s this date of yours?”

Liam goes a bit red in the cheeks at the question and rubs at his chin. “Uh, funny story, that,” he laughs nervously. “They’re—”

“Payno! There you are.” Louis throws an arm over Liam’s shoulder and plants his palm against his chest, sharp teeth arranging themselves into a wide smile. “Oh, hey, it’s Niall the genius lab partner!”

Niall’s eyebrows go crawling up toward his hairline. “Hi, Louis,” he says, shooting Liam a pointed glance. “How’s it going?”

“I’m wonderful, thanks for asking.” He pats Liam once on the chest before sliding away from his back and settling at his side instead, his fingers catching on the edge of Liam’s sleeve. “We’re going to dance. Care to join?”

“I’m okay,” Niall shakes his head, breathing out a laugh at the flustered expression on Liam’s face. “I’m gonna go find Zayn, I think. Maybe I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

“Pretty sure I saw him at one of the tables in the back,” Liam says finally, clearing his throat. Softer, he adds, “he’s gonna be really excited to see you.”

“I hope so.”

The share a private smile, something friendly and knowing just between the two of them, before Louis waves goodbye and all but wrestles Liam towards the dance floor. 

Niall waits until they’ve disappeared into the crowd, fiddling with his sleeve cuffs for a moment until he has his heart rate under control and can head in the direction of the tables Liam had referred to on steady feet.

There’s no other way to put it; Niall is nervous. _Why_ he’s nervous is something else completely. It’s just Zayn, but for some reason those usually comforting words— _just Zayn—_ are making Niall’s palms sweat and his mouth run dry. He finds himself walking slower than he normally would, weaving carefully through the tables with his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

Zayn’s not hard to spot. He’s sitting at a table with some other soccer players Niall vaguely recognizes, nodding along half-heartedly to whatever conversation is occurring. His tux is slung over the back of his chair, white shirt sleeves rolled up just far enough that his _ZAP!_ tattoo is visible. A couple strands of darks hair have slipped free of their gel and are hanging over his eyes. Niall’s mind goes fuzzy at the sight of him, and he halts mid-step. 

Of course, that’s when Zayn chooses to turn his head and notice him, his eyes growing almost comically wide. It would be funny if Niall’s whole world wasn’t suddenly flipping upside down on its axis, all of its parts raining down like chunks of ice in a hailstorm. The noise of the ballroom rushes past him like indistinguishable static, fading out until Niall swears all he can hear is the scrape of Zayn’s chair across the floor as he clambers up to his feet.

The distance between them evaporates in a fraction of a second. Niall blinks, and when his vision re-focuses, Zayn is right in front of him, half-breathless and beaming.

“You’re here,” he murmurs. He reaches out and wraps both hands around Niall’s biceps, holding him in place as he sweeps his eyes from the unpolished shoes on Niall’s feet to the bowtie that’s knotted around his throat. “How are you here?”

Niall flushes hotly under Zayn’s gaze. It’s like his body’s been dropped into a pot of boiling water, and he clears his throat, waiting for Zayn’s eyes to find his once more. 

“Thank Nick,” he says. “He bailed on Harry, so I ended up with his ticket.”

“I just—I can’t believe it.” Zayn laughs, the sound colored with disbelief. The skin around his eyes bunches up from the force of his smile, and Niall’s stomach swoops. “You’re really here.”

Niall swallows thickly and nods. He feels like he should say something else, but—Zayn is just _staring_ at him, his face bright and open, eyes gleaming with the light of a billion suns. He looks so genuinely, undeniably happy that Niall is practically trembling with it just from mere exposure.

“You look good,” Zayn finally says. His voice dips lower with the words, and Niall has to squeeze his eyes closed for a moment, head spinning, before he can properly respond.

“Thanks,” he says softly. “So do you.”

Zayn’s grip on his arms loosens somewhat, but he doesn’t move away. “You just keep on surprising me, you know that?”

“In a good way, I hope.”

“In the best way.” 

Zayn is giving him _that look_ again, the one where Niall is a painting in a museum and Zayn is in awe just looking at him, examining all of the different images and colors and techniques that make him whole. It’s a look that says _you’re the only one in this room—no, you’re the only one on this planet—it could stop spinning and I wouldn’t even notice—_

Niall’s thoughts drift back to what his dad had said at the beginning of the week: _that boy looks at you like you’ve got his whole world wrapped up in your hands._

Tonight, in this moment, Niall knows for certain that it’s true.

“I wanna dance with you,” Zayn blurts. “And drink shitty punch, and hear the whole story about how you ended up here, but I promised Jade I would help her with something really fast—she’s on the prom committee or whatever—so I’m gonna go do that now, that way we can hang out for the rest of the night. Is that okay?”

Niall exhales a laugh and nods, swaying a little on the spot when Zayn finally lets go of his arms. “If we dance, I might end up breaking one of your toes. Or all of them. Fair warning.”

“Not if I trip you first.” Zayn grins, tongue in cheek. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Niall watches him go, sure that his own dopey smile is about to break his face in half at any moment. He’s too happy to care, though, settling into a chair at an empty table nearby to wait until Zayn gets back.

He’s been there for about a minute, maybe two, when someone calls his name. His fingers still where they’ve been tapping against the tabletop and he lifts his head, smile dropping straight off his face.

“Perrie,” Niall mumbles. “…Hi.”

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” Perrie says. “Zayn said you couldn’t make it.” 

She takes the seat beside him without waiting for an invitation, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder. The sequins on her dress catch the light that’s falling from the chandeliers overhead, and it burns when the reflection hits Niall’s eyes.

“Yeah, um…it was pretty last minute.” 

Perrie hums and crosses one leg over the other, her manicured fingernails catching on the edge of the tablecloth when she sets her hand there. Niall imagines them more as claws, ones meant to dig into the skin of her prey and prevent its escape.

“I have to say, I’m pretty surprised,” she says. 

Niall’s eyebrows furrow. “That I’m here at prom?”

“That you’re still here in general.” Perrie’s mouth curves into a smile, but there’s a dark twist to it. “I really didn’t think you and Zayn would make it this far.”

The air in the room seems thicker all of a sudden, swelling up inside of Niall’s chest when he inhales. “What are you talking about?”

Perrie blinks at him, tilting her head. “The dare, of course.”

Niall doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. His heart trips over itself as it clambers up to his throat and sticks itself there, like a blade cutting through his insides.

“We dated, you know. Zayn and I.” Perrie leans forward a bit in her chair, and Niall resists the urge to move back, fixing his eyes somewhere near her chin. “Then, ten months in, he told me that he was pretty sure he was gay. I was upset, obviously. It’s a bit hard to believe someone telling you they like guys when he’s been having sex with you for six months.”

Nausea swirls in Niall’s stomach. He wants to stick his fingers into his ears like a child and tune her out, but he’s frozen, clammy palms gripping the edge of the table like a vice.

“I didn’t like feeling like I had done something wrong, like it was me who drove him away. So I told him to prove it: find a guy, get him into bed or whatever. Show me that he wasn’t just lying for my benefit, trying to let me down easy,” Perrie shrugs. “You seemed like an easy target. Cute, quiet. Probably lonely. He sat down with you at lunch that day, and that was that, really.”

Niall’s whole body goes numb. His chest feels like someone’s lodged a brick inside of it, the cement pressing down on his lungs and squeezing all of the oxygen out. He drops his hands into his lap and fists them in the fabric of his slacks until his knuckles turn white.

“You’re lying,” he whispers. “That’s not—Zayn wouldn’t.”

“You had to wonder, didn’t you? Why someone like Zayn would ever talk to someone like you.” Perrie’s voice is mockingly gentle, almost pitying. Each of her words pierces Niall like a bullet. “Life isn’t a movie, Niall. Not everyone gets a happy ending, though I’m sure you’re well aware of that.”

“You—” The inside of Niall’s mouth tastes like cardboard when he tries to swallow, throat dry and aching. “You don’t know anything—”

“I do, though,” Perrie says bluntly. “Zayn’s told me everything.”

And Niall’s heart just— _stops._

“I know about your empty wallet, about your useless college acceptance letters.” Perrie ticks each item off on her fingers as though she’s simply creating a shopping list. “I know about your brother. Tragic, him getting blown up like that. And then your mom, not loving you enough to stay—”

“Shut up.” Within an instant, Niall’s vision has gone fuzzy. He blinks furiously, scrubbing at his eyes as the wetness starts to seep out onto his cheeks. “Just—shut the hell up.”

He can’t stand up fast enough, the bile rising rapidly in his throat when he thinks about _Zayn_ and all the time he’d spent trying to open Niall up, only to shatter him like an eggshell and watch the yoke come pouring out. It’s like a car crash, the flames and the screeching tires and the metal cracking through the windshield and plowing Niall straight through the heart.

His chest heaves with the force of his breath, but he doesn’t stop. He scrambles away from the table, stumbling his way across the ballroom without looking back. The blood pounds in his ears and there’s an incessant shrieking in his head, the noise pulsing in time with each jolt of Niall’s heart in his chest.

_Stupid,_ his brain screams, and Niall wants to scream right along with it. _Stupid, stupid, you’re so fucking stupid—_

“Niall?” It’s Harry, reaching out and latching onto his forearm. They’re near the door, just a few steps away. Niall doesn’t think he can hold himself up for much longer, his head spinning and tears blurring his vision. “Niall, what happened? Are you alright?”

Niall wrenches his arm out of Harry’s grip, stumbling with the force of it. “I have to go,” he chokes out. His voice sounds like someone has slashed through his vocal chords with a machete, tight and hoarse. He doesn’t wait for Harry’s reaction. Pushing his way past the edges of the crowd, he exits the ballroom and practically sprints through the hotel lobby into the warm April night, the words _Zayn’s told me everything_ throbbing in his ears.

*

The front door bangs shut behind him when Niall comes staggering into the house. He’s _suffocating,_ hands fumbling to wrench the bowtie from around his neck. The noise startles his dad, whose face drops quickly when he notices the state Niall’s in.

“You’re home early.” He jumps off the couch, but Niall ignores him and goes careening past, trying to get to his bedroom. “What’s going on? Did you drive home like this? Niall—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Niall croaks. The tears won’t stop; if anything, they start to fall fasterwhen Niall finally makes it into the bedroom. His back hits the door with a resounding _thump_ after it slams closed, and he sinks down against against the wood, body hitting the floor hard enough that his teeth rattle.

He yanks his knees up to his chest and digs his face into them, trying to count backwards from ten like he always does. He only makes it to eight before the first sob wracks through his body, the sound wretched and broken.

He feels hollowed out, like someone has taken an ice cream scoop to his insides and scraped him clean. His sobs get louder, and Niall tries to muffle them against the inside of his elbow, wrapping his arm around his face and biting down until he tastes blood.

“Niall.” There’s a pounding on the door as Bobby’s voice rings through, clear and terrified. “Niall, son, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m fine,” Niall wheezes. He’s not fine; _god,_ he’s the furthest thing from fine. “I don’t—I can’t talk about it, dad. Just go.”

The knocking stops. Niall rasps in a breath and scrubs at his nose with his sleeve, the fabric covered in snot when he drops his arm back to his side.

_You’re Niall, right?_ It’s Zayn on that very first day, with his red beanie and his careful little smile. The image tastes sour in Niall’s mouth. 

He gags and crawls away from the door, dragging himself up to his feet and over to his desk. The paper is sitting right on top, the one containing the sketch Zayn made of him. Niall stares at it until he physically can’t hold his eyes open any longer. Then, he picks it up and rips it straight down the middle.

He falls into bed with his shoes still on and a hole inside of him, one so large and gaping that he’s certain nothing will ever properly fill it again.


	11. Chapter 11

Niall stays in bed until the middle of the afternoon, cocooned in sheets that he swears still smell like sand and saltwater and _Zayn._ His eyes ache from crying and exhaustion as he stares blankly at the wall in front of him, his damp pillowcase sticking to his cheek.

“Niall?” There’s a soft knock at the door, followed by his dad’s voice. “Zayn’s on the phone, he’s asking for you.”

Niall squeezes his eyes shut. A dull throb penetrates the numbness that’s taken over his chest at the sound of Zayn’s name, and he curls in tighter on himself, trying to stave off the ache.

“I’m not feeling well.” His voice cracks when he tries to raise it loud enough for Bobby to hear. “Tell him I’ll—I’ll see him at school tomorrow.”

There’s nothing but silence for a long moment, but then Niall hears his dad’s footsteps padding away as he mumbles something into the phone, too quiet for him to make out. 

Niall pulls the covers over his head and shoves the pain away, falling into another restless sleep.

*

He doesn’t go to school on Monday.

His alarm goes off after his dad has already left for his first job, so Niall hits the snooze button and rolls back over. His whole body feels sore and stiff, like someone has mowed him over with a bulldozer. 

Sometime around noon, he forces himself into the shower, avoiding his own reflection in the mirror the entire time. He stands under the nozzle and lets the water drip into his eyes until it stings. The hot spray soothes his muscles somewhat, but not his heart. It twinges when Niall rubs an absent hand over his chest, still raw and tender from the beating it’s been forced to take. 

*

When his dad gets home late that night, Niall is sitting at the kitchen table, forcing down a bowl of Cheerios on autopilot. It’s the first thing he’s eaten all day but he can still barely stomach it.

“So, I got a call from Dana Hills today,” Bobby greets, placing his keys on the counter and shrugging out of his coat.

Niall swirls the milk around in his bowl with his spoon and doesn’t look up, not even when he feels his dad’s gaze against the side of his head. “Still wasn’t feeling that great,” he mumbles. “I’m going back tomorrow, don’t worry about it.”

A silence falls over them, harsh and unforgiving. After a whole minute passes, Niall assumes that’s it, that the conversation is done. He spoons another bite of cereal up to his mouth.

“You’re my son, Niall. Of course I’m going to worry.” 

His dad’s voice is low, pleading. Niall freezes at the words, spoon dangling from his hand in midair.

“I’ll be fine,” he says automatically.

“Will you, though?”

Niall lifts his head, startled by the question. When he catches his dad’s eyes, there’s nothing but worry there, the muscles in his face pulled taught and his mouth pressed into a grim line.

“I haven’t seen you like this since Greg died,” Bobby says quietly. “And I—I don’t want you to close yourself off like that again. It’s not healthy.”

_I know about your brother. Tragic, him getting blown up like that._

Niall’s hands start to tremble. 

“I’ll be _fine_ ,” he repeats, sharper this time.

He pushes his chair back from the table and goes to dump his bowl in the sink, stomach churning.

“I’ll be here,” his dad murmurs. “When you’re ready to talk about it.”

Niall just wraps his hands around the edge of the kitchen counter and shakes his head. He doesn’t turn around until Bobby’s footsteps have faded out of the room.

*

It’s five minutes past the start of first period when Niall gets to school the next day. He takes his time locking up his bike and hardly even blinks as he accepts his tardy slip from the front office, the sound of his own heartbeat drowning out everything else as it thuds in his ears.

The morning passes quickly—too quickly. He keeps his head down through his first two classes. At break, he sneaks out to the bleachers by the baseball field, where he hides until after the bell for third period has rung. He does the same thing at lunch, sitting with his head in his hands and his PB&J resting unopened on the bench next to him.

By the time English rolls around, Niall is seriously considering skipping the rest of the day altogether. It’s cowardly, he knows, but he’s not ready to see Zayn yet—not ready in the slightest. He’s spent all day steering clear of him, but his avoidance hasn’t accomplished a single thing. The thought of coming face-to-face now that he knows what he does still makes him sick to his stomach.

Nonetheless, he heads towards Ms. Paul’s room when the bell rings, backpack straps clutched tight between his fingers.

The room is mostly empty when he arrives. It’s exactly like that day all those weeks ago, but in reverse: Niall’s not attempting an apology for his avoidance this time. He falters in the doorway for a moment before heading toward Harry’s seat—his old seat—with his heart in his throat. 

“Harry.”

At the sound of his name, Harry’s back straightens in his chair.When he realizes it’s Niall in front of him, he opens his mouth to say something, but Niall beats him to it.

“I need my seat back.” Niall swallows thickly. “…Please.”

A beat passes in which Harry just looks at him and doesn’t react. Niall’s hands tighten on his backpack straps.

Then, finally, Harry stands. His face twists, and there’s sympathy hidden there, if Niall looks close enough. “Yeah, no problem.” 

He gathers his belongings, eyes flitting toward Niall every couple of seconds in silent question. Niall doesn’t offer an answer.

“I’ll just…” Harry pauses in the aisle between desks once he’s finished, backpack dangling off one shoulder. “I’ll see you, yeah?”

Niall says nothing. He slips out of the way to let Harry pass, still avoiding his eyes, and then drops heavily into his chair. Beside him, Cher doesn’t speak either, just reaches out and presses her hand fleetingly against his forearm.

Niall rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and sinks down lower in his seat.

The clock on the wall seems to be mocking him, _tick-ticking_ its way toward the start of class in slow motion. Students keep filing in, one after the other, but none of them are Zayn.

And then—he senses Zayn before he sees him, can feel the moment that the other boy freezes in the doorway and spots him. Niall glues his eyes to the front chalkboard and doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. His chest tightens and all of the blood drains from his face, his whole body going cold. 

It’s worse than he thought it would be. Zayn’s gaze bores into him, and it feels like a blade, the way it slices right through him. Niall’s lungs don’t loosen for the rest of the period, not even after Zayn has shuffled off to his seat in the back, out of sight but never out of mind.

*

“Where’d you disappear to on Saturday?”

Niall pulls his notebook out of his backpack without answering.

“We’re not going back to that one-sided conversation business, are we?” Liam jokes weakly. His eyebrows pinch together when Niall still doesn’t say anything, confusion washing over his features. “Niall?”

“I don’t really feel like talking today,” Niall finally says. He glances briefly at Liam, then moves his eyes back to his notebook. “If that’s okay.”

“Oh…sure.” Liam quietly clears his throat. “Sorry.”

*

Niall waits in the library until half an hour after the final bell, then heads outside to unlock his bike. The last thing he’s expecting is to find Zayn waiting there, sitting on the cement with his soccer cleats unlaced on his feet.

He freezes, but it’s too late to turn back around—Zayn is already standing up and dusting his palms off on his practice shorts. Every inch of Niall’s body tenses at the sight of him. It’s like prodding at a wound that’s not even begun to close up yet, the hole in his chest aching furiously.

A lump rises in Niall’s throat, but he does his best to swallow past it. He schools his face into a careful mask and takes a step forward. 

“I—” He wets his tongue across his suddenly dry lips. “I need to get to my bike.”

Zayn makes no effort to step out of the way. He looks tired, his eyes hooded and mouth tipped down into a half-frown.

“You’re avoiding me,” he says quietly.

Niall drops his eyes to his feet.

“I need to get to my bike,” he repeats. “So if you could just—”

“What did I do?”

The question lands somewhere between them, too far for Zayn to reach out and take back but not far enough for Niall to extend an answer toward it. 

“I just—I don’t understand.” Zayn’s voice breaks on his next words. “One minute, you’re surprising me at prom, and the next you’re—gone. Harry saw you run out. He said you looked really upset.”

Niall has to wrap his arms around his middle in order to hold himself up.

“I called your house a few times. Your dad said you weren’t feeling well. I figured that’s why you weren’t here yesterday, but then I spent all of today looking for you and you weren’t in any of our usual spots…” Zayn’s next words are soft, defeated. “You went back to your old seat in English. Why did you do that?”

He sounds… _hurt,_ and that’s not fair. Zayn’s not the one who should be hurting here; he doesn’t even know what the word hurt _means._

“Stop,” Niall croaks. “Just…stop.”

“Stop what?” Zayn huffs out a laugh, but it’s broken and confused. Nothing about this is funny. “I don’t even know what I’m doing wrong!”

“You don’t have to pretend like you care anymore, okay?” Niall’s voice doesn’t come out as sharp as he intends it to be. Instead, the words are desperate and weak. “Perrie told me. She told me about—about your stupid dare.”

He looks up just in time to watch as Zayn’s whole face falls, his mouth dropping open but no sound coming out. 

“I—” He takes a small step forward, and Niall shrinks back, his stomach plummeting to his feet. “I can explain—”

“Tell me it isn’t true.” Niall’s voice drops to hardly above a whisper, his chin starting to tremble. “Tell me you didn’t start talking to me because of—that.”

A moment of painful, suffocating silence follows, one that leaves Niall with tears in his eyes and a hole in his chest even bigger than before.

“God.” He pushes a strangled noise out of his throat, his eyes burning. “I—I’m such an idiot. I should have known.”

“Niall, please—”

“ _What?”_ Niall demands, his voice cracking on the word. “What do you want? It’s done! You’ve completed your stupid dare. I mean, I didn’t sleep with you, but I gave you every other part of me, so that should be enough, right?”

Zayn staggers backwards like he’s been punched straight in the gut. “ _Niall._ ”

“You told her about—about Greg. About my _mom._ ” Niall scrubs at his stinging eyes. “How could you do that?”

Without waiting for an answer, he pushes past Zayn to get to his bike, kneeling down and reaching for the lock. His hands are shaking so violently that he can’t even fit the key inside. His outburst has left him empty, even emptier than before, like someone has decided to stick a vacuum into his chest and suck everything right out.

Niall finally manages to uncoil the bike lock, staggering up to his feet and yanking his bike from the rack. He’s not even expecting an answer, to be honest—wouldn’t listen if Zayn had one, anyway.

He climbs onto his bike and knocks the kickstand back with his heel. Zayn is still standing a few feet away, his expression utterly devastated, and Niall just—can’t. He _can’t._

“Please leave me alone.” He squeezes his eyes shut, only opening them again when he’s sure that his voice won’t shake. “You’ve done enough.”

He kicks his feet onto the pedals and rides away without looking back.

*

There’s a line from a short story Ms. Paul made them read in English first semester, “Orientation” by Daniel Orozco. Niall only remembers it because he had to ask for photocopies, since he couldn’t afford an actual copy of the collection it was part of:

_Isn’t the world a funny place? Not in the ha-ha sense, of course._

As Niall abandons his bike in the driveway and stares down at the newspaper he’s just picked up off the ground on his way into the house, he can’t help but laugh at just how funny the world really is.

According to the date in the top corner of the front page, today is May 1st.

College decision day. Of course.

Niall drops the paper on the kitchen table once he’s inside and heads straight for his bedroom. He doesn’t feel like crying anymore—in fact, he doesn’t feel much of anything at all.

His four acceptance letters are there inside the bottom drawer of his desk, waiting. 

Niall pulls them out and walks calmly back through the kitchen and out the back door to the city-issued garbage cans that are lined up next to the side of the house. He flips open the lid on the blue recycling bin, then drops the papers inside without hesitation.

He doesn’t know why he’s kept them so long, anyway. They were never going to do him any good.

*

Zayn really does leave Niall alone.

He doesn’t pop up by his locker. He isn’t anywhere near the computer lab at break when Niall goes to work on the Calc homework he didn’t finish the night previous, and he’s back at his old table in the cafeteria at lunch, surrounded by Harry and Jade and Perrie and a bunch of people Niall can’t even look at because it hurts too much.

Niall sits at his own table, alone with his sandwich and a book. It’s his worn copy of _The Road._ He doesn’t move to open it, though, just sits with his head down and his shoulders raised, flinching every time someone so much as laughs from somewhere nearby.

It’s like he’s missing a limb, the way his body won’t stop aching. He’s forgotten how to be _Niall,_ the Niall who didn’t have a Zayn smiling at him and regaling him with dumb questions and random stories about his sisters. There isn’t just a hole in his chest, but a hole in his life that’s shaped like Zayn. It follows him everywhere he goes, like Zayn is a ghost that won’t stop haunting him, the phantom sound of his voice trailing after Niall no matter how hard he tries to escape it.

*

Liam is already at their shared desk when Niall gets to physics a couple of hours later. He has his nose buried in his textbook and doesn’t look up when Niall approaches.

There’s a Snickers bar resting on Niall’s side of the table, unopened.

And Niall thought he’d cried himself dry, but now—

“I know it’s not much,” Liam finally glances at him, his eyes soft. “But it helped last time, so I thought…”

Niall clears his throat and sniffs. “Yeah,” he murmurs. Then, after a long moment: “thanks.”

Liam just nods.

“I know you don’t wanna talk about it.” A pause. “It’ll be okay, though.”

Niall shrugs. ‘Okay’ still feels like it will be eternally out of his reach, but he doesn’t say that to Liam. In fact, he doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the period.


	12. Chapter 12

It’s almost worse that Zayn has well and truly left Niall alone.

It’s been a week, and a part of Niall—a tiny, microscopic part—keeps waiting for Zayn to find him and try to explain himself again. He’s never listened when Niall’s told him to fuck off in the past. The fact that he _is_ listening this time, that he’s made no effort to defend himself, is what hurts the most, in the end, because his lack of persistence only serves as another confirmation that it’s true. He’s screwed up, and he knows it, too. 

But Niall isn’t thinking about it. He isn’t thinking about anything, if he can help it—not Zayn, not the fact that graduation is only a few weeks away, and certainly not the gap that exists after that, where the summer and fall lie vacant, yet another hole in his life that he has no idea how to fill. 

*

“Well, this is kind of awkward.”

Niall looks up from where he’s been half-heartedly working on his Spanish homework to kill time. Rather unsurprisingly, the voice belongs to Louis. He’s come to a stop in the doorway of Mr. McMahon’s room, eyes flicking across the rows of empty seats before settling on Niall. 

“Everyone else is out taking the AP test.” Niall returns his attention to his work, carefully penciling in the conjugations for _poner_ in the subjunctive. “Sorry.”

“Oh. That’s okay. I can just talk to you for awhile.”

“Um—”

It’s too late. Louis is already dropping into Liam’s usual seat, scooting back so he can prop his feet up on the desk and clasp his hands over his stomach. “If you really are the genius that Liam claims you to be, how come you’re not taking the AP test?” he asks.

Niall doesn’t respond, just moves onto _ir_ and begins to fill in the conjugation box. _Vaya, vayas—_

“Right. Liam mentioned you weren’t much of a talker.” A beat passes, and then: “He’s worried about you, you know?”

Niall freezes, the pencil falling slack in his hand. He swallows thickly. “He shouldn’t be.”

“That’s just Liam, though. He worries.” Louis lets his legs fall from the desk and straightens up in his chair. “About everyone, but especially when it comes to his friends. He’s like a mother hen, that one.”

_Friends._ That’s what they are, Niall supposes, or at least what they were on their way to being. Guilt curls in his stomach, sour and burning. 

“He talks about you all the time.” That gets Niall to look up, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. Louis’s mouth twists into a small smile before he continues. “It’s pretty embarrassing. At first I was sort of jealous, I’ll admit. I didn’t know what to make of this guy who was, and I quote, ‘annoyingly smart and way more incredible that he gives himself credit for.’”

“But I—” Niall licks his lips and slowly sets down his pencil. “I hardly ever spoke to him.”

“You said enough, I guess.” Louis laughs a little. “I sort of owe you a ‘thank you,’ actually.”

“What for?”

“If it wasn’t for you, I doubt Liam would have ever asked me to prom,” Louis says. “I couldn’t do it because I was too scared he’d say no. Then he told me about the conversation you guys had that day, after I left. Said he’d regret it too much if he didn’t at least try.”

“That was…” Niall thinks back to that day, to the stupidly obvious moon-eyes Liam and Louis would send when they thought the other wasn’t looking. “You guys would’ve figured it out eventually, with or without me.”

“Maybe,” Louis concedes. “With school starting in the fall, though—what if it had taken us too long? Now we’ve got the whole summer together. That’s huge.”

Niall goes quiet. His own summer looms overhead like a never-ending shadow, hot and dull and lifeless. It stings, the realization that for the briefest moment, he’d been tricked into thinking that might not be the case.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” he finally asks.

Louis’s expression turns serious, more serious that Niall’s ever seen him. “I guess I’m trying to say that…it’s okay to let people into your life sometimes.” His voice is gentle. “It’s scary, and sometimes they let you down, but—sometimes it can really be worth it, too.”

Niall frowns and lowers his eyes. His hand shakes a little when he goes to pick up his pencil again. “Right.”

Maybe there’s some truth to Louis’s words, but…Niall let Zayn in, and then Zayn let him down. And it hurts. It hurts like losing Greg did, like his mom leaving did. It hurts in a way that Niall thought he’d never have to experience again, like he can’t quite get the oxygen into his lungs, like his body has suffered an injury that he’ll never recover from.

And Niall is so, so tired of hurting.

“I get it, you know. How it’s easier to just…close yourself off, not trust anyone,” Louis says, even quieter this time. “My dad left when I was little, and then my stepdad, he left a couple of years ago. When people keep leaving you like that, you kind of learn to not let them stay in the first place.”

Niall’s chest tightens, the words hitting a little too close to home. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. 

He can feel Louis’s eyes on the side of his face, but he doesn’t move, just forces himself to breathe in, then out.

“I’m…sorry,” he adds after a moment of silence. “About your dads.”

“Eh, it’s alright. Shit happens,” says Louis. He pushes his chair back and stands, the noise echoing through the otherwise empty room. “I’m a better person because of it, I think. Stronger, at least.”

_You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met._

It’s Zayn’s voice, hushed and full of awe, and it sends Niall’s heart crawling up to his throat.

Louis raises his arm in an aborted gesture, like perhaps he’s about to rest it on Niall’s shoulder. He lowers it at the last second, though, taking a step back and pausing at the side of the desk.

“I’ll see you around, Niall,” he says softly.

Then he’s gone.

*

The days creep their way closer to graduation, each one hotter and more mindless than the last.

Niall picks up his cap and gown, studies for his upcoming final exams, and doesn’t think about Zayn once, not at all, not one tiny fucking bit.

*

Niall takes his last final on a Thursday afternoon at the end of May. 

The sun is shining and the whole school is brimming with something bright and excited, and when Niall hands his Calc exam over to Mr. McClanahan, there’s no sigh of relief, no shocked moment of ‘this is it.’ He just turns and walks out of the room without feeling a single thing.

Liam finds him while he’s cleaning out his locker, dumping paper after paper into the garbage can at his side. The halls are mostly deserted by now, everyone having already fled at the first sign of summer, except for Niall, who stands and stares at the stacks of books in front of him like they might hold answers he’s not even sure he’s looking for.

“Hey.”

Niall doesn’t look over as Liam comes to a stop beside him. He takes his Gov notebook out of his locker and chucks it into the trash, then offers a quiet, “hi.”

“How were the rest of your finals?” Liam asks.

“They were fine.” 

“That’s good.” A pause. “Hard to believe we’re, like…done. For real.”

“Yeah.”

Niall crumples up a wad of Spanish notes and throws it away, aware of Liam’s gaze following him all the while. 

“Do you have any plans for the summer?” Liam asks, once he realizes Niall isn’t going to say anything else.

“Not really.”

“What about the fall?” God, he just won’t quit. “You never mentioned where you were going.”

“I’m not.” Niall takes the remaining books out of his locker and shoves them into his backpack, pushing the metal door shut once he’s done. “Going anywhere, I mean.”

“What?” Niall yanks the zipper closed on his backpack and slings it onto his shoulder. Liam’s voice is colored with disbelief when he continues, “what do you mean, you’re not going anywhere?”

“Exactly that. I’m not going anywhere,” Niall repeats. He swallows and finally looks up, regretting it the minute he does so. Liam’s face is pinched together with confusion, eyes wide and sad, and Niall’s stomach twists at the sight.

“But…you’re so smart,” Liam starts. “I don’t—” 

“It’s fine.” Niall wraps his fingers around his backpack straps and hunches his shoulders, dropping his eyes to the ground just so he doesn’t have to look at the pity on Liam’s face any longer. “I’ll take some classes at Saddleback, find a job in the meantime. It’s not a big deal.”

It really isn’t a big deal—at least, that’s what Niall keeps trying to tell himself. He’ll work on his Gen Ed, start making some money to help keep his dad on his feet, and then just…transfer to a CSU in a couple of years. It’s not a bad plan. It’s practical, one that makes the most sense.

“Is that…that’s what you want to do?” Liam asks carefully.

Niall shrugs. “Like I said, it’s not a big deal.”

Liam frowns but doesn’t protest again, for which Niall is grateful. They stand there for a minute, the silence building between them, until Liam clears his throat.

“Well,” he says, “I’m gonna be at Loyola Marymount, so…maybe we’ll be able to hang out. LA’s not that far.”

_He’s worried about you,_ Louis’s voice whispers. Niall rolls his bottom lip into his mouth, considering.

“Yeah, maybe,” he eventually agrees. It’s worth it for the tiny smile that starts to take form on Liam’s face, and Niall hates himself just a little bit for having made it disappear in the first place. “What about, uh—what about you and Louis?”

“He’ll be at UCLA for theater.” There’s a hint of pride in Liam’s voice as he says it, and then his expression turns bashful as he rubs at the back of his neck. “We’ll be in the same city, so—we’re gonna try, I think.”

“That’s really good, Liam,” Niall says quietly. “I’m—I’m happy for you guys.”

“Thanks.” Liam holds his smile for a few seconds longer, but then it dims. He looks at Niall from beneath furrowed brows, the epitome of honest. “You deserve to be happy too, you know.”

Before Niall realizes what’s happening, he’s being tugged forward and crushed against a warm chest, Liam’s arms coming up to circle his shoulders. They’re _hugging._ Liam is hugging him. 

All of the air zooms straight out of Niall’s body. He stiffens in Liam’s arms, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and throat clogging up. There’s determination in the way Liam holds onto him, as though it’s the only other way he knows how to try and get his words through Niall’s thick skull.

“What—” Niall’s mouth feels like it’s filled with dust when he tries to speak, watching as Liam separates from him and shoves his hands into his pockets. “What was that for?”

Liam doesn’t even look embarrassed. He shrugs. “You looked like you could use it, that’s all.”

Niall presses his lips into a thin line and blinks when his eyes begin to prickle. He stares at Liam, who stares right back without wavering.

“I’m—” Niall takes a deep breath. “I’m glad you moved here, Liam.”

The grin that unfurls across Liam’s face is like the sun coming up, his eyes growing impossibly bright and the skin around his eyes crinkling. He sounds the happiest Niall’s ever heard him when he says, “I am, too.”

*

As Niall shrugs on his blue graduation robe in front of the bathroom mirror the next night, he can’t help but remember the last time he was stood here, feeling blissful and happy and on top of the world.

This time, he just swallows around the lump in his throat and walks out without sparing his reflection a second glance.

“I’m ready,” he calls.

His dad appears in the living room doorway a moment later, hands tucked behind his back. When he smiles, it emphasizes the crow’s feet around his eyes. It’s one of the few times he’s smiled in weeks, having been too busy looking at Niall like he might break in half at any moment.

“Got something for you.” 

His dad steps into the room and moves his hands out from behind his back. He’s holding a flower lei. It’s a cheaper one, the flowers obviously fake, but it’s a lei nonetheless, identical to the ones Niall knows the majority of his classmates will be wearing over their gowns.

“Dad…” Niall blinks, feeling a bit gobsmacked by the gesture. “You—you didn’t have to.”

“I know I didn’t,” Bobby says softly. “You only graduate from high school once, though, right?”

Niall stares at his dad’s outstretched hand, breath catching in his throat.

“Come on now, you don’t want to be late.” His dad steps forward and hooks the lei around his neck for him when Niall doesn’t make any move to take it. “The future awaits.”

*

The football bleachers are absolutely packed with people, parents and siblings and relatives alike all holding their programs up to shield their faces from the glare of the setting sun. Niall gives up searching for his dad in the crowd about five minutes in and instead keeps his eyes on his lap, fiddling with the string of flowers that’s looped around his neck.

He sits there in his assigned chair, smack-dab in the middle of the alphabet, only half-listening as the principal and student body president and valedictorian all make their speeches. The small of his back is starting to get a bit sweaty from the weight of his robe, but he doesn’t really feel it. He stands when he’s supposed to stand and walks when he’s supposed to walk, and as he stands up on the stage with his diploma gripped in one sweaty hand and the principal shaking his other, all he can think is, _at least I won’t have to deal with spitballs to the back of the neck anymore._

*

Everyone floods the field as soon as the ceremony has ended, flitting around in search of their friends and family. Niall wanders through the mass of faces a bit aimlessly, knowing that he’s probably never going to find his dad in the chaos. He’s surrounded by tears and laughter and a lot of hugging, and he just—

He doesn’t really want to be here anymore. 

He comes to a stop in the middle of the field, suddenly overcome by exhaustion. People continue to bustle past but he hardly notices them, his feet glued to the grass and his diploma hanging loosely from his hands.

“Niall!”

He almost misses the sound of his name being called over the noise of the crowd, but then there’s a gentle hand on the back of his arm that startles him into motion. He turns around in surprise and stops dead when he sees who’s waiting there.

“…Mrs. Malik.” Niall licks across his suddenly dry lips, all of the blood draining from his face. “Um…hi.”

“I thought I told you to call me Trisha,” Zayn’s mom says kindly. 

Her smile is pleased and her eyes are full of warmth, just like Niall remembers them. She has both Walihya and Safaa stood at her side, and there’s a man hovering behind them, his face calm and expressionless—Zayn’s father. Zayn himself is nowhere to be seen, and Niall only has a moment to be grateful before Trisha is speaking again.

“How have you been? Zayn hasn’t spoken about you in awhile.”

“Oh, I’ve…I’ve been fine.” Niall’s stomach clenches. “I should—I need to go find my dad though, so—”

“There you guys are!” It’s Zayn’s voice, frenzied and a bit breathless. Niall’s heart plummets to his feet at the sound of it. “I’ve been looking everywhere—”

The words cut off abruptly, and Niall knows he’s been spotted. He drops his eyes to the ground and stares pointedly at his feet, wrapping his arms around his chest when he feels Zayn’s gaze on him. He needs to leave, but his limbs won’t cooperate, everything around him fading except for the sound of his own heartbeat banging away in his chest.

“We were just saying hello to Niall,” Trisha’s words filter through the haze, and Niall finally manages to take a shaky step back from the five of them, his hands twisting into his lei like a lifeline.

“Actually, I—I was just leaving.” He looks up for a split second and offers Trisha a tight smile, then lowers his head before Zayn can catch his eyes. “Um, enjoy the rest of your night—”

“Now, hold on,” Trisha says. “We should get a picture of you two before you have to run off.”

“That’s—” Niall’s chest tightens. “That’s really not necessary—”

“Nonsense! Yaser, do you have my camera?” She turns toward her husband in search of the device, and Niall should go _now,_ right fucking now, before the hole in his chest opens up even more and leaves him gasping—

“ _Mom._ ” Zayn’s voice comes out harsh, a bit strangled. “He said no pictures, alright?”

Everyone freezes, Niall included. He lifts his head before he even realizes he’s doing it, bottom lip caught between his teeth and heart wedged into his throat, meeting Zayn’s gaze head-on for the first time in almost a month.

It’s like the ground falls out from beneath his feet and he’s hanging there with a rope knotted around his neck. Zayn looks the same, except he’s not the same at all. His eyes are dark and hollowed out underneath, the cut of his cheekbones thinner and more defined beneath the messy stubble that litters his jaw. He looks the way Niall feels, tired and lonely and hopeless, and it cuts into Niall like a dagger to the chest. 

“Just—” All of the fight has left Zayn’s voice when he speaks this time, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He’s not looking at Niall anymore when he says, “We should let him go find his dad, he’s probably waiting.”

Now that Niall has looked once, he can’t seem to look away. A myriad of emotions are spinning through him, sadness and anger and disappointment all muddling together, but the most prominent one is _longing,_ sharp and fierce and throbbing where it sticks out like a knife protruding from his ribcage.

Niall misses him. He misses Zayn more than anything, and he hates that he does because he _shouldn’t_. Not when he can’t even know for sure if anything between them was real and genuine enough for him to miss. 

Tension ripples through the air, and it’s obvious that everyone has noticed it. Zayn’s looking anywhere but at Niall, and it stings, even though Niall knows he’s the one who asked for this.

“…alright,” Trisha says carefully. She smiles again, but it’s more hesitant this time. Her hand reaches for Niall’s anyway and gives it a light squeeze. “Congratulations, sweetheart. Enjoy your summer.”

Niall just nods and slips out of her grasp, walking away before it all gets to be too much.

*

He finds his dad about ten minutes later, hovering at the edge of the field on the outskirts of the crowd. 

“Thought I’d never find you,” Bobby greets. His smile is quiet and proud, and Niall shudders in a breath, smiles back.

“It’s crazy out there.”

“I noticed.” 

There’s a moment where neither of them speaks, and then his dad is grasping him by firmly by the shoulder. “Well, get in here, you.”

Niall barks out a watery laugh and allows himself to be yanked into a hug. He presses his face into his dad’s shoulder and shuts his eyes, pushes all his thoughts away and sinks in the comfort of his dad’s hold like he’s eight years old again and shaking after a nightmare. 

They finally separate after a long few seconds, but Bobby keeps his hands on Niall’s shoulders, his eyes shining.

“I know the past few years haven’t been easy on you,” he says. “But—you’ve done good, Nialler.Really good.”

“So’ve you,” Niall says quietly. “I mean that.”

His dad blinks at him, expression softening. 

“I’ve done the best I can.” He squeezes Niall’s shoulders once, then drops his hands and clears his throat. “Enough of that. Let’s go grab a bite to celebrate. What do you say?”

“Are you sure?”

“Wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” 

Niall purses his lips, picturing the stack of past-due bills on the kitchen counter back home, their half-empty pantry.

“Dad—”

“It’s one meal, Niall,” his dad says. “And I think we could both use a break, don’t you?”

“…Yeah,” Niall eventually murmurs. “Okay.”

*

After dinner, they drive back to the house without speaking, the truck radio humming softly between them.

“Do you have any other plans tonight?”

The question surprises Niall, who straightens up from where he’s been slouched against the window. He tucks his bottom lip into his mouth and shakes his head even though his dad isn’t looking, eyes focused on the road. “Don’t really have anyone to make plans with.”

It’s the closest he’s come to telling his dad what happened between he and Zayn, and he turns away as soon as the words are out, hands twisted together in his lap. The car goes quiet again for a moment, so quiet that Niall can hear himself breathing.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t make plans,” his dad finally says.

They pull up to the house a few minutes later. Bobby turns the engine off but doesn’t remove the key, his gaze sliding toward Niall. “You should do something for yourself, go for a drive or something at least. I’ll probably be asleep on the couch within an hour, anyway.”

“You already trying to kick me out?” Niall jokes weakly.

“Of course not.” His dad offers him a faint smile. “You just graduated. I want you to go do something fun, that’s all.”

All Niall really wants to do is crawl into bed and stay there for the unforeseeable future, focused on forgetting the events of the past few months. He takes one look at his dad’s hopeful face, however, and the refusal dies on his tongue.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try,” he agrees feebly. 

That’s how Niall finds himself parking the truck off the side of the highway and heading down to the only spot he knows, his little cove hidden at the base of the bluffs. The night air is warm, punctuated by a gentle breeze that rolls in off the ocean. It ruffles Niall’s hair and tickles his face as he treks through the bushes, shoes and socks tucked under one arm.

He hits the sand at last, then freezes.

Life really needs to stop trying to be funny.

“No way.” Niall shakes his head, his voice carrying sharply across the small space. “You—you don’t get to be here.”

Zayn’s head whirls around, his whole body visibly tensing when he finds Niall staring at him. He’s sitting on the sand a few feet away, pants rolled halfway up his calves and shirtsleeves pushed to his elbows. The moon lights him up just enough that Niall can see the way his face contorts, eyes widening and mouth twisting with an emotion that Niall can’t—doesn’t want to— name.

“I….didn’t think you’d be here. Figured you’d be with your dad.” 

Zayn stands, brushing the sand off the backs of his legs. He glances at Niall, who still hasn’t looked away, his feet rooted to the ground. The few steps that separate them feel like miles.

“Yeah, well…I’m not.” Niall drops his eyes. Quieter, he asks, “Shouldn’t you be at a party or something?”

“…Wasn’t really feeling up to it.”

Niall says nothing. The sand is cold around his toes, wrapping around his skin and tugging him down, down, down. He’s floundering, his heart beating so loud that Zayn must be able to hear it above the silence that’s rapidly thickening in the air between them.

“I’m sorry. About my mom, earlier,” Zayn finally says. 

Laughter prods at Niall’s chest all of a sudden, bitter and self-deprecating, but he doesn’t let it escape. 

_That’s all you’re sorry for?_

He could scream the words, cry, bury himself right here on this beach, but Zayn probably wouldn’t even notice. It’s like Niall is staring at a wall mural that he used to recognize, but now it’s been painted over, sad and dull and grey.

“I think—I’m gonna go.” Niall clutches his shoes to his chest and takes a step back. “You were here first, it’s best if I just—yeah.” The words come out fast, a bit broken. Niall wheezes in a breath and turns away, his stomach going hot and tight like someone’s branded it.

“Niall—wait.” Zayn’s voice carries across the small space, desperate and ragged. “Can we just—can we talk? Please.”

The words claw at Niall as though Zayn’s physically grabbed onto him. He flinches to a stop and closes his eyes, back curving in on itself when he hears footsteps treading closer across the sand with each second that slips by.

“What is there to talk about?” he asks quietly.

The footsteps come to an abrupt halt. Niall draws in a deep breath before he turns to face Zayn, who’s just waiting there, his eyes large and pleading in the darkness.

“I know you don’t owe me anything, but I—” The bob of Zayn’s throat is visible when he swallows. “I need you to know that it wasn’t a dare for me. Not after that first day.”

There’s a pressure building up in the back of Niall’s eyes, insistent and stinging. He digs the heels of the palms into the skin before the tears can spill over. “Is that supposed to make it okay?”

“Of course not.” Niall can hear Zayn’s next inhale, the way it shudders into his lungs.“I don’t expect it to. I don’t even expect you to believe me, I just…”

It feels like a century passes in the time it takes Zayn to speak up again. Niall waits, on-edge and aching, his chest feeling like there’s a brick pressing down on it. He’s been worn and stretched-thin for weeks now, like an old t-shirt that’s been put through the wash one too many times.

“….Niall, I’m sorry.” Zayn’s voice breaks. “I’m so sorry. I know that doesn’t mean anything, but I am.”

The apology settles at Niall’s feet, waiting for him to reach down and pick it up. He doesn’t move.

“Why?” he asks instead, voice surprisingly steady. It’s the question that’s been eating away at him for weeks now, chewing at his insides and clouding the corners of his mind. “Why’d you do it?”

It’s like Zayn’s expecting the question with the way he inclines his head, scrunching in on himself in shame. A beat passes where he doesn’t say anything. Then he looks up again and gestures vaguely at the sand, the movement stilted, like he’s not sure if he has the right to be making it.

“Can we…can we sit first, maybe?” he asks softly. “I have a lot to explain. You don’t have to listen to all of it, not if you don’t want to, but I think—I think this would be better."

Niall stares at him for a minute, then nods. They sit down facing the water, a yawning gap separating them, as impossible to bridge as ever. Niall dumps his shoes onto the sand next to him and pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and fixing his eyes on the black horizon.

“I should have told you,” Zayn starts. His voice is hushed careful. “After that first day. You…you were reading _Never Let Me Go._ You acted like you didn’t want to talk to me, but I could tell that wasn’t it. You just…you didn’t know how? And I knew, then, that I couldn’t…I wasn’t going to do that to you. There was no way.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Niall clears his throat. “Tell me, I mean.”

He can feel Zayn’s eyes on the side of his face, but he doesn’t return the look, just tracks the silvery strands of moonlight as they ripple across the surface of the water.

“It…it didn’t seem important, I guess. Not when it was real.”

_Real._ The word is still fuzzy, feels just out of Niall’s reach. He closes his eyes. “What about…the other stuff? Perrie?”

Zayn blows out a long breath, loud enough for Niall to hear. “She would…say things about you. They were rude and stupid and she—well, she was jealous, I guess.” Niall opens his eyes again, resting his chin on his knees as Zayn continues. “I couldn’t listen to it, couldn’t listen to her say that shit about you when she didn’t even know anything. I just—I wanted to shut her up. I never thought that she would take what I told her and use it against you like that.”

The thought of Zayn defending him would normally send warmth curling through Niall’s stomach. This time, though, it prickles at him, makes him ache. 

“That’s not an excuse,” he murmurs.

“I know,” Zayn whispers. “I’m not trying to defend myself, I’m just telling you the truth. I owe you that much.”

There’s nothing, really, that Niall can say to that. He nods.

“…I fucked up, Niall.” Zayn says quietly. “I really hurt you, and I…I hate myself so much for it. It’s like—I can’t even stand the sight of myself. Knowing that you were—you _are_ —the best thing in my life, and that I made you think otherwise…it kills me.”

Something inside of Niall rattles violently at the words, like he’s a box and someone’s decided to pick him up and shake him.

“I—” His voice comes out rough, like wood before it’s been sanded. He swallows around the lump in the throat. “I want to believe you. But…it’s hard.”

It’s dark, but not dark enough for Niall to miss the dip of Zayn’s head and the way his eyelids fall shut like curtains, the way his shoulders edge into a sharp line. “Yeah.”

There’s a hole in the thigh of Niall’s pantleg. He focuses his eyes on the spot, picking at the loose thread with his index finger. “I’ve never opened up to someone like that before…not once,” he says. “You were the first, Zayn. I wanted—” The words get stuck in his throat. “I _wanted_ to tell you those things. For the first time ever, I wanted someone to know me, and then you just…took it all, took everything I gave you and…and smashed it all to pieces.”

When the tears come, he doesn’t stop them this time. He tucks his face into his shoulder and wipes them away as best he can, his next breath wobbling its way in through his mouth.

“I can’t trust you,” he chokes out. “I mean…I forgive you, I think. It’s not that. I just…I can’t do this again. You get that, right?”

Niall finally turns his head. Zayn is already watching him, his eyes like two small specks of stardust floating through space, glinting through the blackness from ten million light years away. He looks like he wants to say something, his mouth parting halfway, but nothing comes out. In the end, he simply nods, slow and careful, like it pains him to do so. 

It’s not that Niall wants it to be this way. If life was about getting what you wanted—if it was fair and everyone got to be as happy anyone else—Niall wouldn’t even be standing here. He’d be at home with his dad and his mom and Greg, all four of them, alive and together. He’d have enrolled in the University of Chicago weeks ago. Most of all, he wouldn’t be feeling this intense yearning to close the gap between himself and Zayn and grab on for dear life, because the gap never would have existed in the first place.

Except that isn’t his life. No, Niall’s life is this: standing up on trembling legs, shaking the sand off of them, and forcing himself to walk away. It’s ignoring the way every inch of his body is screaming at him to _stay,_ to turn back around and say he can’t but he wants to try anyway, that he’s not ready to give this up, not for anything. It’s telling himself to leave behind the best thing he’s ever known, one of the only things that’s ever made him feel worthwhile, special—that’s ever made him feel _loved_.

Niall pauses at the edge of the beach, right where the sand turns into the path that leads up to the highway. He tugs his shoes back on, his heart burning a hole straight through the fabric of his shirt. 

“Niall.” Zayn’s on his feet now. Niall can’t see it, but somehow he just knows _._ Feels it in his bones. “Niall, I.”

The same stilted words that Zayn spoke all those weeks ago, right here on this beach. Niall squeezes his eyes shut, breathes in deep, because he thinks he still understands exactly what Zayn’s trying to say.

“Yeah.” He keeps his voice low, doesn’t turn around. “Me too.”


	13. Chapter 13

June is hot, but July is hotter. The days slip by slowly, quietly, like the sweat that drips down Niall’s spine and the sun that take its time sliding below the horizon each night. 

He gets hired at a small family-style restaurant down by the harbor a couple of weeks after school has finished. It’s nothing fancy, just bussing tables and re-filling water glasses, but it pays and that’s all that matters. He hands every other paycheck over to his dad, and the rest he puts away into savings at the bank. A college fund, if you can even call it that.

Whenever he’s not working, he grabs a book and a towel and bikes down to the cove, lays there until he’s breathing nothing but sand and his skin is hot and tight around the edges. His shoulders burn once, peel, and then they burn again. The bridge of his nose is consistently pink and freckled. Niall doesn’t mind, though, not really. The pain reminds him that he’s here, that he’s still moving, even on the days when he can feel his existence shimmering like the faint smudge of a rainbow. A trick of the light with no real beginning or ending. Blink, and it’ll be gone.

High school feels like that too, in a way, like a distant mirage that fades further from reality with each day that passes. Sometimes Niall will read something that reminds him of Liam’s kind smile, of his breaks spent outside the computer lab, of Zayn’s fingers _tap-tapping_ against the top of his desk during English class. The memories come and go too fast for Niall to grab onto them, almost like they never even happened at all.

He’s like the man in _The Road,_ trekking along with no real destination in mind while the past dwindles behind him. His only mission is to survive, to keep going. That’s exactly what Niall is doing: he’s surviving, not living, just crossing off the numbers on the calendar like they’re bits of debris to be brushed away haphazardly and then dumped into the trash. It’s not bad, but it’s not good, either. It’s not anything, really. 

And Niall is perfectly fine with that. It’s better this way, in the end.

*

He doesn’t even realize that July has morphed into August until he gets the e-mail from Saddleback informing him about course registration. After that, his mind is a blur of enrollment forms and per-credit fees. He watches his freshly filled savings account shrink with a grim sort of acceptance, wondering how much more painful it would have been to watch the dollars come out by the thousands until the balance flashed red and negative right in his face.

It’s most definitely better this way.

*

The call comes a few weeks later, while Niall’s spreading mayonnaise across a slice of bread for his post-work sandwich. He’d had to work until closing, and he’s always hungry when he gets off this late, the chaos of the dinner rush giving him no time to breathe until they’ve flipped the sign to _CLOSED_ and ushered out any remaining patrons. 

It’s after midnight now, and the last thing he’s expecting is the loud trill of the phone on its base. Niall frowns and sticks his knife back into the mayonnaise jar, sets down his half-covered bread. His hands are a bit sticky when he goes to answer.

“Hello?”

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” Niall’s forehead wrinkles. He knows that voice, he just—can’t seem to place it. “Wait, um—this is Niall, right?”

“Uh, yeah. Who’s this?”

“It’s Harry.” 

Niall’s back stiffens. It’s an automatic reaction, a defense mechanism of sorts. He doesn’t know what Harry wants, but he does know that the only real connection the two of them ever had was _Zayn_ , and that…

That doesn’t bode well. Not for Niall, anyway.

“Harry?” he swallows. “How…where did you even get this number from?”

“I might have stolen it from Zayn’s phone when he wasn’t looking,” Harry admits. There’s silence for a moment. “I’m sorry for bothering you so late. I just…I couldn’t _not_ call. Would’ve hated myself too much.”

Niall closes his eyes, counts to five, and then opens them again. Harry is still there, breathing into the phone. It sounds like he has the television on, the muffled murmur of conversation audible in the background. Leaning back against the counter, Niall folds one arm across his stomach and presses the phone tighter against his ear with the other.

“…what is this about?” he asks quietly.

“It’s about Zayn.”

The name wraps itself around Niall’s heart and squeezes. Deep inside of his chest, the hole where Zayn once nestled his way in still aches, a messy stitch job having done nothing to stave off the emptiness that now plagues Niall everywhere he goes.

“He’s leaving the day after tomorrow,” Harry says carefully. “I know you guys didn’t end on the best of terms, but like—” A pause. “—he’s been miserable without you, Niall.”

And Niall has been just as much, if not _more_ miserable, but he doesn’t tell Harry that. His hand starts to tremble where he’s gripping the phone, and there’s a lump rising in his throat, one that hasn’t made itself known in months. Until now.

He takes a deep breath. “It’s done, Harry.” His voice only shakes a little. “Just leave it alone.”

Or—Niall wants it to be done, anyway. He wants nothing more than to bury the admittedly short part of his life that held Zayn within it, but he can’t seem to make it go away. Can’t stop missing Zayn, no matter how hard he tries.

The memories might be muddled, but they’re still there, swimming around in his brain and plugging up the corners. Zayn’s smile, the way he waves his arms around when he talks, the lull of his voice…the look on his face when Niall walked away from him that night in May, soft and devastated.

Harry clears his throat. When he speaks again, there’s a sense of urgency to his tone that wasn’t there before, something desperate and a bit frantic, like he’s afraid Niall might hang up. 

(But Niall is weak, and he doesn’t. Can’t physically bring himself to do so.) 

“It’s not done, though,” Harry rushes out. “I get that Zayn sort of deserves it. He told me, you know, afterwards, about what happened. And I’m not saying that it’s okay now, because it’s obviously not. It’s not my place to be saying anything at all, really, but…” His voice softens. “…the way he looked at you, Niall? You can’t fake that.”

It’s like a punch in the stomach.

Because Niall _knows_. He’s had months to think back on every word, every soft touch and warm look, trying to dissect truth from illusion, and he’s come to realize that there’s nothing to dissect. He knew what it all meant then, and he still knows what it means now, even after Zayn forced him to call it all into question.

“…he’s leaving,” Niall finally murmurs. “That screams ‘done’ to me.”

“Don’t you at least want to say goodbye?”

_I already did,_ Niall thinks. 

“It’s not about what I want,” he says instead.

“Of course it is.” Harry’s voice is gentle. “At least think about it, okay? I think—I think it would be good. For both of you guys.”

For a long moment, neither of them says anything else. Niall looks to the ground, pokes at a hole in his sneaker with the opposite foot.

“Maybe,” he agrees.

Harry hums into the phone, a soft noise that’s just so easily accepting and _Harry,_ Niall can’t help but quirk a small smile at it. “That’s all I can ask for,” he says. “Have a good night, Niall.”

“You too,” Niall says, a beat too late, and then he realizes that Harry’s already hung up.

*

Zayn’s house is exactly the same as Niall remembers. As he walks his bike up the driveway and leans it against the side of the house, he feels even more out-of-place than he had on his first visit here. It had taken him all night and then the majority of the morning to talk himself into coming. A brief phone call into work to get the day off, a long few minutes of mentally psyching himself up in the bathroom mirror, and he’s finally made it, except now that he’s here, every part of his body is telling him to turn right back around and run away as fast as he can.

_No,_ Niall tells himself firmly. He’s standing in front of the door now, finger poised over the doorbell. _You can do this. You should—you have to do this._

He presses the button, then proceeds to wonder just how bad it would be if he were to throw up right here all over Zayn’s doorstep.

Before he can think too much, the door swings open. A smile blossoms across Trisha’s face when she sees him, sincere as always. “Niall! Isn’t this a pleasant surprise.”

“Yeah, uh…hi, Mrs.—Trisha.” Niall’s heart is beating away like a jackhammer, each pulse of it more rapid and violent than the last. “I’m sorry for just…dropping by like this.”

“It’s no problem at all, really! Come on in.” 

Trisha beckons him inside, and Niall only hesitates for a second before following. Stepping over the doorframe feels a lot like he’s crossing into a war zone. He inhales, then exhales, wiping his sweaty hands on his thighs in an effort to steady himself.

“I’m assuming you’re here to see Zayn,” Trisha continues. Niall swallows and nods. “He’s upstairs packing the rest of his things. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

“Sure,” Niall echoes, even though he isn’t sure, not at all. “Um, thank you.”

“Of course.” Trisha’s smile doesn't waver. “Let me know if you two need anything.”

She turns to wander back in the direction of the kitchen, which leaves Niall standing there in front of the staircase, his heart in his throat. He stares at the top landing for a long moment, then takes a shaky step forward and makes his way up.

Zayn’s door is open when Niall gets there. A large suitcase lies open atop his bed, only half full. Zayn is turned that way, his back hunched as he half-heartedly folds clothes and tosses them inside. He’s in grey sweats and a white t-shirt that has tour dates printed along the back, his feet bare. Around him, the walls of his room are even more covered than they were a few months ago, drawings overlapping one another and spray paint lettering filling the thin spaces in between.

Niall freezes right there in the doorway, his chest aching. It’s overwhelming, being back in Zayn’s space like this. He feels like he’s suffocating, getting strangled by all of these different pieces of Zayn’s life that he hasn’t been exposed to in so long.

He forces himself to suck in a breath and raises a trembling hand to knock on the doorframe.

“Mom, I told you. If my door’s open, you don’t need to knock—” 

Zayn puts down the shirt he’s been folding and turns around. His body goes completely still.

“…Niall?”

“Hi,” Niall says quietly.

They stand there for too long, just staring at one another.

Niall clears his throat. “Can I, um—can I come in?”

“…Yeah. Of course.”

Niall shuffles inside. He doesn’t go very far, stopping a few feet away from the door. Zayn still hasn’t moved. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s watching Niall with uncertainty in his gaze. It’s unnerving in the way Zayn’s looks always are, and Niall does his best not to fidget under the weight of it.

“What are you doing here?” Zayn asks. It’s not accusatory; his tone is honestly curious, if a bit disbelieving.

Niall wets his tongue across his lips. “Harry called me.”

“He did?"

“Yeah.” A beat. “He, uh…told me you were leaving tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Zayn’s mouth tips downwards the smallest bit. “I’m…yeah. My flight’s at noon.”

Niall nods. He drops his eyes to his feet and keeps them there, his heartbeat thudding in his ears.

“I—I wanted to come wish you luck, I guess,” he mumbles.

For awhile, neither of them speaks. It’s so quiet that Niall can hear Zayn’s breathing, can hear the nervous scratch of his fingers when they rub across the back of his neck.

“Well…thanks,” Zayn says at last. The words sound hollow, disappointed. When Niall looks up again, he finds that Zayn has turned back to his suitcase, the line of his shoulders slumped beneath his t-shirt.

All at once, Niall has the urge to cross the room and press his hand to Zayn’s back, feel the tension seep from his limbs and the warmth of his skin bleeding into Niall’s own. It’s an intense urge, something hot and all-encompassing. Niall suddenly can’t stop thinking about it. About how easy it would be, to just reach out, like he used to, and find Zayn right there. Waiting.

Always waiting.

“I miss you,” Niall whispers.

Zayn’s movements come to a halt, his hands hovering over his suitcase. The t-shirt that he’s holding slips from his grasp. He twists around slowly, stiltedly, as though he can’t quite process the admission.

“You—” His voice is hushed, cautious. “What?”

“…I miss you.” Niall’s voice wobbles on the words. “I really miss you, Zayn.”

It’s like the dam breaks. Zayn’s whole face thaws, going soft in that way that it only ever has for Niall, his eyes flickering with something like hope. He takes a careful step forward, testing the waters.

“I miss you too,” he says, just as quiet. 

Niall nods. He tucks his bottom lip in between his teeth, holds it there for a long minute.

“You really hurt me,” he murmurs.

“I know.” Zayn’s throat bobs. “I never meant to.”

“…I believe you.”

Zayn blinks. His eyes are wide, shiny with moisture. “Niall—”

They fall together like there’s absolutely nowhere else for them to go, like it’s an inevitability, Zayn’s arms tight around Niall’s shoulders and Niall’s face tucked snug up against Zayn’s neck. He holds onto Zayn’s waist like it’s a buoy and he’s a drowning man at sea, and in many ways he _is,_ or has been, except now Zayn is finally here to reel him back into shore.

“I missed you so much.” Zayn’s voice rumbles against Niall’s ear, familiar and comforting. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“It’s okay.” The hole in Niall’s chest is getting narrower, disappearing more and more with each second that he can feel Zayn’s breath against his temple, his heartbeat thudding in time with Niall’s own. “I mean—it’s not okay, exactly, but I…”

“Yeah,” Zayn murmurs. He pulls back slightly, but only so that he can cup Niall’s face between his warm hands, his thumbs smoothing out the darkened skin beneath Niall’s eyes. 

“I’ve been miserable without you,” he confesses. His hands fall to Niall’s neck, fingers brushing just beneath his ears.

“I know.” Niall hiccups out a faint laugh. When Zayn raises an eyebrow at him, he adds, “Harry told me.”

“Of course he did. Christ.”

Niall’s smile stays in place even after his laughter has faded, small but there. He feels Zayn’s thumb trace the edge of his jaw, unbelievably gentle, like he’s something delicate, something breakable. They’re still sharing the same space, breathing the same air. 

“Your smile,” Zayn mumbles. “I missed it.”

The tips of Niall’s ears go hot at the words. He closes his eyes.“…Harry said something else, too.”

“Did he now.”

Niall opens his eyes again and reaches up to wrap his fingers around Zayn’s wrists, pulling them away from his face. He doesn’t let go, though, just holds onto Zayn’s hands in the small space between them, stares at the curves of his wrists and the long lines of his fingers.

“He said something about…the way you look at me.”

Zayn turns his hands over in Niall’s grip. His fingers slip between Niall’s own, slow and sure, until they’re intertwined. Niall follows the movement with his eyes, examines the contrast of his own pale hand pressed against Zayn’s tanner one. His heart stutters in his chest.

“Not very subtle, am I,” Zayn murmurs.

Niall looks up. The expression on Zayn’s face is a bit sheepish, almost embarrassed, but beneath it all, Niall can still make out the fondness, the warmth that seeps through the cracks whenever Zayn looks at him. 

“Subtle about what?” he whispers, even though he thinks he already knows the answer.

The corners of Zayn’s mouth twitch. His pulls their joined hands closer to his chest, and Niall goes with the movement, his breath holed up inside his throat.

“The fact that I’m a little bit in love with you,” Zayn says, soft and easy.

Everything stops.

It’s not that the statement is earth-shattering. It’s not that it’s surprising, even. It’s the way the words just _are_. They feel right, like the final piece of a puzzle locking into place.

That’s what stops Niall. Not hesitation, not shock; it’s the fact that nothing about his life has ever been easy except for this. This moment, in spite of everything.

“Zayn,” he breathes.

“Is that—” Zayn stops. His thumbs stroke along Niall’s knuckles, an absent motion that warms Niall all the way through. “Is that alright?”

The question is a tentative one. It’s such a Zayn thing to do—the double-checking, the making sure Niall is okay, that he’s comfortable—that it makes Niall’s chest hurt. 

“I love you too, you know,” he says quietly. 

Zayn’s hands tighten around his own. When Niall looks up at him, the smile he finds is absolutely _radiant,_ spanning half of Zayn’s face and pushing his eyes up at the corners. The sight of it steals the breath from Niall’s lungs.

“You and your surprises,” Zayn says. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

And Niall just—laughs, soft and bright and pure. He can’t resist, not when Zayn’s eyes are shining like they are and Niall’s feet feel like they aren’t even touching the ground anymore. His heart is growing too big for his chest, blooming like a flower at the first signs of spring and reaching out toward Zayn like he’s the sun.

“I didn’t think this would happen,” he says. “That I’d ever…that I’d get to have something like this.”

“You deserve everything,” Zayn tells him. His expression is the fondest Niall’s ever seen it. “I don’t know if I can give that to you, but I—I can try.”

Niall’s mouth falls open on a soft ‘o.’ His eyelids flutter when Zayn’s fingers slip from his own and find his cheek instead, and he presses his lips together again, tries to swallow. He can feel Zayn’s thumb at the corner of his mouth, a gentle pressure. It makes him go shaky all over.

“I’ve never—”

“That doesn’t matter to me,” Zayn whispers. He touches Niall’s chin, strokes his thumb over the divot there. “Can I?”

Niall gulps, nods.

There’s hardly any space between them, but it still feels like miles as Zayn leans in and nudges his lips up against Niall’s own. It’s so soft that it’s almost excruciating. Zayn cradles Niall’s jaw in his hand, holding him in place. He doesn’t move, doesn’t open his mouth, like he’s afraid he might scare Niall away. Just keeps his mouth settled there, one second, two seconds, three seconds, before he pulls back.

Niall doesn’t realize that his hand has slid out to grasp Zayn’s hip until he feels it, the warm curve of skin where his t-shirt has bunched up from the press of Niall’s fingers. It’s smooth, smoother than he remembers it being that day in Harry’s pool, when every playful touch felt like it was forbidden somehow, forbidden and thrilling and new. 

He moves in again at the same time Zayn does. Their lips catch, and then Zayn angles his head and they’re properly kissing, Zayn’s mouth dragging against his. He doesn’t push for more, content with just lips on lips for the most part, but Niall still feels like he’s being swallowed whole.

“I need to pack,” Zayn mumbles, once they’ve separated for the second time. 

Niall nods. His head is spinning, slightly, but in a good way. “Okay.”

Neither of them move. Zayn’s fingers idly caress the skin behind Niall’s ear, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“You should stay,” he says. “Come to the airport with us in the morning, if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Always sure when it comes to you.”

Zayn’s hand finally falls back to his own side, but he’s quick to lean in after the loss of contact, head tipping up so that he can press his lips to Niall’s forehead. It’s a fleeting touch, almost an afterthought, like it’s something that Zayn’s been doing forever. _Hi,_ it says. _I love you._

“You’re staying,” he murmurs.

And that’s that.

*

“I’ve never seen my mom so happy to have a dinner guest before,” Zayn tells him, much later that night.

His suitcases are packed and sitting by the front door, ready to go. Trisha had fed the two of them enough curry for a small army just a couple of hours ago, and now they’re back in Zayn’s room, curled up in bed with the lights off. Niall is dressed in a borrowed pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt that Zayn isn’t taking to school with him, and they’re lying face to face, hands twisted together in the space between them. Zayn’s thumb is gently tracing Niall’s lifeline where it curves across his palm.

“I’m not sure why she likes me so much,” Niall admits.

“Because you’re amazing, maybe?” The mattress shifts, and then Zayn’s head lands so that the two of them are sharing a pillow, his forehead grazing Niall’s own. “And you make me happy.”

Niall closes his eyes. A moment later, he feels Zayn’s nose nudging against his, followed by a light kiss being brushed across his mouth. It makes him drift closer, until he can shuffle a leg in between Zayn’s.

“Are you excited about school?” he asks quietly.

Zayn pulls his mouth away but stays close otherwise, rubbing his thumb over the jut of Niall’s wrist. “I was.” He keeps his voice low as well. “I was ready for a fresh start, you know?”

Niall scans his eyes over the dark outline of Zayn’s profile. “And now?”

“…I’m not ready to leave you,” Zayn whispers. “Not when I just got you back.”

The confession feels fragile, like if it escapes this little cocoon that they’ve created in the comfort of night, tangled together in Zayn’s bed like this, it might shatter. 

“You’re gonna be so great,” Niall says. “I know it.”

It’s quiet after that, so quiet that Niall would think Zayn has managed to fall asleep if not for the fact that his eyes are still wide open, two black circles shimmering in the darkness. 

“I want this,” says Zayn. “I want this—us—to work, more than anything.”

“Are you worried it won’t?” Niall asks carefully.

“I don’t know.” Zayn pauses, almost as though he’s weighing his next words. “I won’t be home again until Christmas.”

“I’ll still be here.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything.

“…I have a job now.” Niall keeps his tone as casual as he can manage. “I could like—save up. Come visit you at Thanksgiving, maybe.”

Zayn’s hand slips out of his, his body shifting so that he’s propped up on his elbow, his face hovering above Niall’s. “…I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You wouldn’t be asking.”

“You—you’re serious,” Zayn says slowly.

“I want this just as much as you do,” Niall murmurs.

It’s not a lie. In fact, if there’s anything that Niall’s learned over the past four months—through all of the pain, and the anger, and the loneliness—it’s that life without Zayn isn’t much of a life at all, when it comes down to it.

A hand finds his cheek, then, the skin slightly rough but the touch gentle as Zayn leans over him and seeks out his mouth. Niall reaches out automatically, winding his fingers in the front of Zayn’s t-shirt. The kiss doesn’t last long, just a few seconds, but Zayn doesn’t go far, stays poised above Niall while his fingers card back the strands of blonde hair that have wilted over his forehead.

“Thank you,” he says.

Niall blinks up at him, his fingers still coiled against Zayn’s stomach. “For what?”

“For giving me a second chance. For being…you.”

“You always say that like it’s some huge thing,” Niall says quietly.

“Because it is.” Zayn’s lips skim across his forehead, his cheek. “Someday you’ll see that. I’ll make sure of it.”

He kisses the corner of Niall’s mouth once, briefly, then settles back down onto his side with his head next to Niall’s on the pillow. His eyelids droop shut. If it weren’t so dark, Niall could probably count his eyelashes, they’re so close.

“Night, Zayn,” he whispers.

“Goodnight.” 

Niall closes his eyes, thinks that’s it until he hears it, an even softer whisper: 

“Love you.”

*

The drive to LAX is slow and mostly silent the following morning, save for the occasional murmur coming from Zayn’s parents up front. Niall keeps to his side of the car, an unspoken agreement between he and Zayn that they aren’t going to touch, at least not right now. He can still feel Zayn’s eyes on him, though, and sometimes he’ll return the look, sharing a smile that feels much too easy, given the circumstances.

When they finally get to the airport, Niall keeps the girls occupied while Zayn goes with his parents to check in and drop off his bags. Walihya is telling a story about her dance class, and Niall listens attentively while Safaa stands somewhat subdued at his side, her little fingers hooked loosely into the edge of his pocket. It does something funny to his heart, the fact that she’s all but hanging onto him like she’s afraid he might leave her, too.

“All set.”

Zayn comes to a stop in front of them, his boarding pass gripped in one hand and his backpack hooked over his shoulder. Next to him, Trisha is already looking a little teary eyed, while Zayn’s father is as neutral as ever, his arm wrapped reassuringly around his wife’s shoulders. Niall glances at them, then down at the two girls who are pressed against his side. Any other time, he might have felt like he was intruding, but right now he just—feels accepted, like he’s carved a little space for himself here, in this family that isn’t necessarily his own.

The goodbyes happen one by one, starting with the girls. Zayn hugs each of them, tells them to be good, promises he’ll call at least once a week. Safaa clings to him like a monkey when he stoops down to hug her, and when they separate, there are tears on her cheeks. 

“Do you have to go?” she mumbles.

“I’ll be back before you know it, Saf, don’t worry.” Zayn brushes his lips over the top of her head. “Don’t let Wali boss you around too much, alright?”

“Hey!” Walihya protests, but she falls silent when Zayn presses a kiss to her hair as well, gentle and fleeting.

“And you, don’t go and become too cool for your big brother, okay?”

“I’m already too cool for you,” Walihya says. She’s smiling, though, already reaching out for Safaa once Zayn has pulled away. “Love you, Zee.”

Trisha is next. The tears spill over as soon as Zayn wraps his arms around her, her mascara smudging against her cheeks. Niall can’t see Zayn’s face, but he can see the tense lines of his back as he holds onto his mom, both of them reluctant to end the embrace. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Trisha murmurs. “Be good, you hear me?”

“Always am, mom.” They finally break away from one another, and Niall watches as Zayn’s fingers come up to gently wipe the tears off his mom’s face. “Quit it before you make me cry, too.”

Trisha laughs, the sound watery. “I’m your mother, I’m allowed.” She grabs onto Zayn’s hands for a moment, then lets them go. “Let us know when you land.”

“I will.”

Then it’s his dad’s turn. Neither of them immediately reaches out, instead choosing to stand there and look at one another, both of their faces unreadable.

“Don’t forget to call your mother.”

“I won’t.”

“And don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll try my best."

Another beat passes before Zayn’s father reaches out and claps a hand to his shoulder. “I know we don’t always see eye-to-eye, Zayn, but…I _am_ proud of you.”

Zayn blinks. His voice is suspiciously thick when he says, “…thanks, dad.”

He clears his throat, and finally— _finally—_ turns to Niall.

“So,” he says.

Niall’s mouth quirks up into a faint smile. “So.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, until Zayn huffs out a laugh. “Don’t be an idiot,” he mumbles, and reels Niall forward into his chest.

Niall goes willingly, fitting his arms around Zayn’s waist while Zayn clutches at his shoulders, their faces buried against each other’s necks. Zayn’s breath tickles where it puffs out against Niall’s skin, and his voice is hardly more than a whisper when he says, “gonna miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.” Niall squeezes Zayn’s middle before pulling back slightly, just enough so that he can see Zayn’s face. “Paint lots of cool pictures.”

Zayn smiles, though his eyes are a bit glassy. “Don’t read too many sad books,” he says. Then, a few seconds later: “I’ll call whenever I can.”

“I’m not worried,” Niall murmurs. He knows that all of Zayn’s family is watching them, waiting, but he can’t bring himself to move away. “You should probably go.”

“Yeah.”

But Zayn leans into hug him again instead, his lips catching on the corner of Niall’s mouth when he pulls away a moment later. It’s so fast that Niall almost misses it. He definitely hears it, however, when Zayn utters a quiet, “love you.”

Niall slides carefully out of his grasp, hands lingering on Zayn’s waist as he goes. “Love you too,” he says softly.

He steps back the rest of the way and watches as Zayn adjusts his backpack, prepares himself to go. Once he’s ready, he pauses in front of the five of them, his eyes flitting from face to face like he’s memorizing them, trying to save the information for when he’s gone.

“Well,” he says at last. “I’m off.”

Niall blinks, offers a hand in a wave when the rest of Zayn’s family does as well, watching as Zayn turns his back to them and heads off in the direction of the security line. They stand there while Zayn hands his boarding pass over to the TSA officer at the checkpoint, and they’re still standing there when Zayn pauses just inside the security area. He looks back at them and grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

And for once in his life, Niall honestly believes that everything is going to be just fine.


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, guys. We've officially made it. 
> 
> 60,000 words and a semester-long hiatus later, and it's done. I sort of can't believe that we've come this far?? Like-when I started this story, it was just this little nugget of an idea in my head, and now we're here and it's become so much more. My stomach feels all fuzzy thinking about it.
> 
> I'm basically at the point of incoherency right now, but at the very least, here's what I _can_ offer: a giant, fat, whopping, almighty THANK YOU!! To every single person who commented, left kudos, reblogged/liked my posts on tumblr, sent me messages, or even just read silently. You are the heart and soul of this story and I certainly would not have made it this far without you. Thank you for giving me a chance and coming on this journey with me, I'm more grateful than any of you will ever know.
> 
> Feel free to come talk to me on [tumblr](http://groundopenwide.tumblr.com) anytime, whether it pertains to this story or not. I'm still going to be around, you can count on that!
> 
> Love you all to the moon and back,  
> Peyton

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

_Ladies and gentleman, welcome to Chicago O’Hare International Airport. Local time is 3:26 PM and the temperature is approximately 26 degrees…_

There’s snow on the ground. Actual, real life snow. Niall can’t stop staring at it, his face pressed to the round window as the plane bumps along slowly toward the gate. He’s really here—he’s _in Chicago._

He has his phone out of his pocket and powered back on as soon as the pilot gives them permission. It’s a plain thing, better than a flip phone but not by much, with one of those sliding keypads that are getting harder and harder to find these days. The phone had been an eighteenth birthday gift from his dad back in September. He’d told Niall that they’d have to split the bill if he got one, but Niall had agreed easily. The thirty extra dollars he now has to spend each month are more than worth it.

_just landed!!_ he thumbs off to Zayn. 

A response comes through not even ten seconds later, the sight of it causing Niall’s mouth to curl upwards into a grin.

_can’t wait to see you xx,_ Zayn’s written. 

Niall stares at the text for a solid minute before he decides that he’s probably already made enough of an idiot out of himself and puts the phone away. He’s jittery all over, has been for the entire four-hour flight. The excitement was good at first, kept him from getting sick at the thought of being thirty thousand feet off the ground, but now all he can think about is the fact that he’s only a few minutes away from seeing Zayn for the first time in months.

It’s been tricky. At first they’d been limited to talking on the phone whenever Niall happened to be at home, the downside of having nothing more than a landline. It made timing difficult, since by the time Niall usually got home late after the closing shift at the restaurant, Zayn was already in bed due to the two-hour difference. 

Those few weeks at the beginning were hard, harder than Niall had been expecting, which was why the cellphone thing had been a bit of a godsend. Suddenly Niall was waking up to dumb little texts from Zayn, brief anecdotes about the crazy girl in his Drawing I class or blurry selfies of him in his dorm and things got better, easier. 

They were both still busy, obviously—Zayn had plenty of school-related things to worry about, and Niall was splitting his time between work and classes, fitting in a shift whenever he could in an effort to save up for his Thanksgiving trip. But they’d managed some way, somehow, and now none of it even matters because they’ve _made it._

It feels like it takes a century for everyone to deplane once they’ve finally pulled up to the gate. Niall forces himself not to bounce up and down as he waits in the aisle, and it’s even more of an effort to keep himself from running once he’s inside the terminal. The airport is bustling with holiday travelers, but he hardly notices the crowds, just holds tightly onto the straps of his backpack and follows the signs out toward the arrivals area. Down one escalator, then another. Around a corner, through a large set of glass doors, and—

All of the air leaves Niall in one big rush.

_Zayn._

He’s standing between a family of four and a chauffeur, and he looks anxious, his lips pursed and his eyes flitting around like they don’t quite know where to settle. In his hands there’s a wrinkled sheet of notebook paper. He’s written NIALL in his messy handwriting, complete with an undecorated stick figure underneath. It’s dorky and stupid and so annoyingly _Zayn_ that it makes Niall’s heart grow three sizes too big for his chest.

Niall picks up his pace, almost tripping over himself in his haste to close the remaining distance between them. Zayn has finally spotted him, his whole face lighting up like a firework on the Fourth of July. He crumples up the sheet of paper and shoves it into the pocket of his puffy winter jacket just in time before he’s got an armful of Niall, the force of the embrace sending them both staggering backwards.

“Hi,” Niall breathes.

“Hi,” Zayn says back. He laughs as he steadies them, arms tightening around Niall’s waist. The sound is brighter than anything Niall’s experienced in months. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Niall echoes. He realizes belatedly that his whole body is shaking, hands trembling against Zayn’s shoulder blades. He buries his face against Zayn’s neck. “I’m really here.”

Zayn holds onto him for a moment longer before his grip loosens and he slips backwards so that they’re properly face-to-face. His smile is so much better in person, even better than Niall remembers it. He’s got his tongue pressed between his teeth, eyes gone squinty at the corners. 

“God.” His hands move to Niall’s shoulders and squeeze, like he’s trying to reassure himself that this is all real. “Look at you.”

Niall feels warm all over, the way he gets whenever he sits in the sun for too long. He ducks his head to hide his smile. “Look at _you._ You’re the one with the fancy new jacket.”

“Shut up.” Zayn tugs him in again and hugs him even more fiercely than before, his lips brushing the curve of Niall’s neck. “I missed you,” he says quietly.

“I missed you too,” Niall whispers. 

They separate for real this time, grinning dopily at one another for another moment before silently deciding that it’s time to leave. The only thing that remains is Zayn’s hand where it cups Niall’s elbow, a steady point of contact as they navigate the crowd and go to fetch Niall’s suitcase from the baggage claim. He stays close on the train back to school as well, fingers pressed to Niall’s hip as the car rattles along the tracks. It’s like he’s hesitant to stop touching Niall for so much as a second out of fear that he’ll disappear. Niall knows the feeling, couldn’t stop looking at Zayn even if he wanted to.

It takes them almost forty-five minutes to make it to Zayn’s dorm. The room itself is small, complete with two beds and two desks and two dressers. It’s obvious which side is Zayn’s—he’s hung up poster paper so that he can graffiti the walls, and there’s a soccer ball lying astray over by the window. There are also a couple of framed photos on the bookshelf: one of his family, of he and Harry, and then, at the end of the row, a blurry picture of Niall, the one that Zayn had snapped on his phone all those months ago when they were first starting to become friends.

Niall drops his bags by the foot of the bed and goes to pick up the frame, blinking at it in shock. “You got this developed?”

A pair of arms wraps around his waist from behind, Zayn’s chin hooking over his shoulder as he follows Niall’s gaze down to the picture. “It’s the only picture I had of you,” he says, pressing his lips to the soft skin beneath Niall’s ear. “Is it weird?”

“No, it’s—” Niall sets the frame back on the shelf and shuffles around in Zayn’s arms until they’re facing each other. “It’s nice,” he murmurs.

Zayn smiles, all warmth and fondness as he lifts one hand to curve across the back of Niall’s neck. “I’m gonna kiss you now, if that’s okay.”

He doesn’t give Niall time to protest—not that a protest would have even come. Just leans in and captures Niall’s lips with his own, soft and sweet. It takes a few seconds for Niall to remember how this works, how to curl his fingers against Zayn’s hips and tilt his head just so, but then he gets it and Zayn is sucking on his lower lip and he sort of just forgets how to think, after that.

“Should’ve done that at the airport,” Zayn mumbles after he’s pulled away.

“This was good, too,” says Niall. They haven’t exactly talked about it, about the being-affectionate-in-public thing, but this was better anyway, he thinks. Their first kiss in three months as something for them and them alone. So much better.

They cook Top Ramen for dinner that night and eat it straight out of the pot, curled up on Zayn’s bed with his laptop balanced between them so that they can watch the film adaptation of _Never Let Me Go._ Niall definitely gets misty when Ruth dies (though he’ll deny it if anyone asks). Zayn doesn’t laugh, though, just allows it when Niall clings to him and wets the shoulder of his t-shirt with his tears. They fall asleep a couple of hours later, spooned together on the twin mattress, and it’s the best night Niall’s had in a long time.

*

The next day, Wednesday, Zayn takes him around the city. He shows Niall all of the different SAIC campus buildings that are woven throughout the streets nearby, takes him to the little coffee shop down the block that he frequents. They go to see the Bean, which is admittedly pretty neat, then wander through Millennium Park for awhile as Zayn keeps talking about all of the different things he’s discovered while living in the city like this. It’s cold but it’s worth it, especially for the way their gloved fingers stay intertwined the whole time, Zayn’s hand wrapped warm and snug around Niall’s own.

By late afternoon, however, Niall is finally starting to notice the chill that’s seeping through the borrowed jacket of Zayn’s that he’s wearing. He sniffs, and Zayn frowns at him before tugging him off to the side of the path, out of the way of the other pedestrians that are strolling by.

“Your nose is all red,” he says.

“Well, yeah. It’s freezing.” Niall definitely doesn’t sound petulant, not one bit. Zayn laughs anyway and wraps his arm around Niall’s shoulders, pulling him into his chest. 

“You’re cute,” he murmurs. He drops a kiss to Niall’s forehead, then to his nose, which is mostly numb at this point. “Alright, Rudolph, let’s get you inside.”

*

They celebrate Thanksgiving on Thursday with a take-and-bake pizza, one that they cook in the communal kitchen downstairs. Once it’s ready, they take it back up to Zayn’s dorm and set it up on the floor between them, digging in with nothing more than some paper towels they’ve stolen from the bathroom to help mop up the grease from their fingers. 

“What’s your dad doing, since you’re not at home with him?” Zayn asks.

Niall swallows the wad of cheese and dough that’s currently in his mouth. “He got invited out with some people he works with. Just for drinks, but…at least he’s not alone.”

“I figured he wasn’t. You wouldn’t have come otherwise.”

All Niall can do is shrug, because it’s true.

“Okay, how about this,” Zayn continues. He sets down his slice of pizza and leans forward, taps his fingers absently against his knee. “What are you thankful for?”

Niall blinks, his mouth edging up into a smile at the question. “We’re really doing this?”

“It’s Thanksgiving,” says Zayn, like that explains everything—which it sort of does, Niall supposes. “Humor me.”

Niall makes a big show of thinking up an answer, shoving his pizza crust into his mouth and chewing as slowly as he can manage. He can feel Zayn’s eyes on his face, half playful and half expectant, but he still takes his time, waits until he’s completely finished eating to speak.

“I’m thankful for this pizza,” he starts. Zayn shakes his head, but he’s smiling, so Niall smiles back and continues. “My dad. That’s a big one, obviously. And then…well. I’m thankful for you.”

Zayn’s smile gets quieter, softer. “That’s a good list,” he says.

“I’ve got a good life,” Niall says back, and he finds that he really, truly means it. 

He opens his mouth to ask Zayn the same question, but stops when Zayn pushes the remaining pizza carefully off to the side and crawls over to him. They’re kissing before Niall even knows what’s happening, Zayn’s hands cupping his face and his lips slick against Niall’s own.

“I’ve got pizza all over my face,” Niall protests, but Zayn’s mouth has already drifted to his chin, his jaw.

His kisses his way up to Niall’s ear, says, “you had peanut butter all over it, too, the day I first talked to you. Do you remember that?”

“Oh, god,” Niall groans. He ducks away from Zayn’s mouth so that he can press his face into the other boy’s shirt. “I’d prefer not to remember it.”

Zayn laughs, his chest rumbling beneath Niall’s ear. A moment later he has a hand in Niall’s hair, gentle and soothing. “Like I said yesterday…you’re cute. It was cute.”

“It was awful. _I_ was awful.”

“No, you weren’t. You were scared,” Zayn says softly. His lips brush the top of Niall’s head. “I was too, you know.”

“What?” Niall moves his face back and looks up at Zayn. “You were not.”

“Uh, yeah, I was.” Zayn offers him a sheepish little shrug. “Do you have any idea how smart you are? It’s kind of intimidating. I figured that when you finally broke your silence, it would only be so you could call me an idiot and tell me to fuck off.”

“Then why—” Niall starts, then bites down on his lip to silence himself. _Why did you pick me for the dare?_ That’s what he suddenly wants to know, but he doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to rehash the thing that almost broke them—that did break them, for awhile.

Zayn senses it, though, of course he does. He frowns and reaches out to smooth the wrinkles that have appeared in Niall’s forehead. with the pads of his fingers. “Have you ever, like—met someone and then thought to yourself, _I want to know this person._ Not for any particular reason. You just…feel it. It’s this need, right in here.”

Zayn drops his fingers to Niall’s chest and taps gently at it, once, twice. Niall wets his tongue across his lips and shakes his head. 

“After that first day, you kept—giving away these little bits about yourself, without even realizing it.” Zayn flattens his palm over Niall’s heart. “And each one just made me want to know more…made me like you more.”

Niall swallows thickly. “So you kept coming back.”

“Yeah,” Zayn mumbles. “I know it probably still doesn’t all make sense to you, but I—I’m here now, for real, and I’m gonna stay here for as long as you want me.”

He’s still kneeling over Niall’s thighs, hair flopping into his face and a splotch of pizza sauce stuck to the corner of his mouth that Niall hasn’t noticed until now. He looks nervous and disheveled and wide open and honest, and Niall loves him so much that he feels stupid with it.

“I’ll probably want you for a pretty long time,” he says, casual as can be. “Hope that’s cool.”

The corners of Zayn’s mouth tip upwards at that, his hands warm where they curve against Niall’s sides. He leans in, but Niall is already right there, offering up his lips and his heart and everything else he has left to give. They kiss like they’ve got all the time in the world, like this is where they were always meant to end up, grins pressed against each other’s mouths on the floor of Zayn’s tiny dorm in the middle of downtown Chicago.

“Love you,” Zayn tells him. 

Niall smiles, thumbs the red sauce away from Zayn’s mouth and says, “I love you, too.”

_fin_


End file.
